Dateline is coming to my house on Sunday morning.
Yes, you read that correctly.
Mothereffing Dateline is coming to my house in 4 days.
And my house looks like a total shithole.
We’ve made an assload of memories in the past couple days, but unfortunately, I don’t think those are going to show up so well on camera.
I thought I might get some crap done yesterday, but I was surprised by an early dismissal.
Apparently 1.5 inches of snow that doesn’t even stick to the road is cause for alarm.
Just to add to the challenge, between the hours of 4 and 5:30 p.m. there was at least one child crying in this house at all times.
And I’m not exaggerating.
90 consecutive minutes of crying. Most of them hysterical.
I won’t bore you with all the details, but the screamfest involved a snowball to the face, a car charger, a package of pencil top erasers, a wet picture of an angel, the destruction of a paper chain, a minor head injury, completely drenched snowpants, “that nasty smell,” and chipmunk teeth.
Yeah, don’t ask.
But I’m starting to panic.
If I see Chris Hansen coming up the walkway on Sunday, well, I’m just gonna make a run for it.
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