Yesterday, passing by a beautiful farm with a sign out front that read, “Polo Lessons”
The Giant–Chicken lessons? What is this? The Colonel Sanders Culinary Institute? How can they remember 11 original proprietary spices if they can’t figure out how to spell “pollo?”
The Ginger–Not ‘Pollo.’ POLO. You know, as in, “I’ve finally attained my highest level of training in Marco. It is now time for me to learn to Polo.
I die a little bit inside every time I think about them moving away for college.
theheartbreakofabeautifullife 