Gardening in good shoes

I can’t believe I’m longing for the good old days when the wingnuts could work themselves into an idiotic lather over mustard on a burger rather than whether schoolkids should listen to a black president. Might be time for another date night at a  culinarily correct restaurant to distract the mad dogs with fresh meat. Or maybe Mrs. O should show up in a school cafeteria and tell the little impressionables she doesn’t like to cook. Pinheads would explode.