ethiopian food

Warning: if you are cultivating picky spoiled children who only eat chicken fingers, viewing this picture may cause high blood pressure, aneurysm, and oily stool.

Yesterday we went to Boston, had great Ethiopian food, and bickered. Portia was a backseat driver, Sean could not let go, Justin was completely unable to flirt with a cute boy even after Sean facilitated (Poof Grade F), and Maple didn't back Sean up like she should have when Mama was a bitch. Today we are all going to start over and attempt the forced serenity that we should have brought with us from California three years ago.

After window shopping and poof browsing on Newbury Street, we headed back to the Natick Collection. I shopped for khakis for my upcoming trip to Reno and the required trade show attire, Justin bought an iPod, Maple responded very nicely to getting beaten by a tiny Nazi in J.Crew, and Sean told the mother of the tiny Nazi that he should save the gorilla beatings for his future frat brothers. The mother awkwardly laughed and said, "Yeah, I guess there's a time and place for everything." Maple retorted, "Yeah, only hug me!"