In these sorry Chronicles of Yaya, you probably recall I was recently called to active duty when my daughter and son-in-law escaped to a foreign paradise. In a flash, I reported for service with my quality frying pan, real maple syrup, some rubber-ducky pajamas and enough Advil to ease every ache on the gams of all the Rockettes.
And I don’t do the splits, so don’t ask.
Praise God and pass the margaritas, the parents returned to their Wildwood nest, feathered with three equally wild ones.
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