So today's the day that Alane and I wake up, look at each other, and reflexively respond to the categorical interrogative WWVS?

"Fifteen years I been married to this..."

And so we celebrate, not with meatballs this Sunday, but at an actual restaurant, a casual place with an American menu. One that is moderately priced. And can handle monkey-boys. TBD.

Right now the chimpz are in their room -- their "workshop"; according to Cookie they are "building something." That means taking various unrelated toys and stacking them, intertwining them, affixing them to the corners and crevices of furniture -- anything to use them in ways never envisioned by their designers.

These creations are little more than random heaps of inanimate plastic. But I fear the development of their skills. Someday, a robot will walk out of their room and open some whup' ass on me.

That's still a few years away. I nonetheless feel a need to prepare.