Saturday afternoons...

Those were the worst, cartoons were over and that ment that it was Bob Villa, golf and news for the rest of the weekend. Dad was at work, but mom worked nights, so she was getting up soon, and she'd be saying any minute now some variation on the following; "clean up the Cinamon Toast Crunch all over the floor", "go get changed out of your PJ's," "Go play outside, it's beautiful out.", "I said clean up the floor!" or "Pick up your socks!"

Then one day i discovered that if i got up early enough on school days i could catch an hour of cartoons that would come on between rush limbaugh and the morning news, man i was so there. usually it was Ducktales. I would sit patiently through Rush, trying to comprehend why it was exactly that he was sweating like that. I never figured it out, but i watched him intently most mornings knowing intuitivly that i must be watching some sort of special brodcast intented for my parents eyes only. Not long after that i started to sneek back downstairs after i was sent to bed and hide behind the couch so i could listen to my parents talk about what i assumed was their plans to rule the world.
They never really said much to each other though, infact, i don't think they ever talked to each other after me and my sister went to bed, they're jobs were done, nuff said i suppose. Some nights i would just fall alseep behind the couch, it was nice cause my back was right up against the register.