Early this afternoon, the Twins and I went on a short walk into a park up in the foothills near the house so we could fly one of their drones.
Almost immediately after take-off, the freakin Reno hurricane winds took it crashing directly into some rocky scrub - on a foothill with an 80-degree incline! - about 100 yards away. We did a brief search but with all the snow lately the ground was super soft sand combined with softball size rocks. Perfect for a concussion or compound fracture. I told the Grrlz "No, no, and maybe...no."
So we drove back home to the sounds of sniffling and whimpering tweens. They acted like they lost a pet goldfish.
An hour later one of em came down pleading to see if we could go back up and look one more time. There was still enough light, so I said "sure".
Fast forward.....as the Grrlz walked ahead, I saw the drone down the sandy hill. I grabbed, clawed my way back up with the *%@! prize and limped triumphantly to the Grrlz. They were ecstatic.
In the car on the way home Millie said "Daddy, you're a son-of-a-bitch."
Me (not angry, but comically confused) "What?"
Millie: "I saw that when someone does something amazing, you call them a son-of-a-bitch."
Me nodding: "Thank you, Honey"