All day Friday, the baby barfed and shat his way through all of our laundry. Come Saturday, still barfing and loose stooling everywhere. By Sunday, Jon was barfing, and I came down with it Monday.
Sunday night our Carbon Monoxide detector went off and it said to dial 911. I always obey my household appliances when they tell me to do things.
I called 911 and the baby got to see all the fire trucks of san francisco tear down our street. It was cool.
Until they made fun of me because I kept calling it the CO2 alarm. They told us to change the batteries and then I heard them grumbling.
The fireman that came to our call were HOT!
Even jon was a little afluttered by them, he was like "was it me of did that first guy look like Jake Gyllenhaal?"
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