Both Honey and Cowboy had a tendency towards um, obstinacy. Neither enjoyed taking directions. Generally Cowboy got by on his good looks and lugubrious charm, whereas Honey had been pulling the grumpy-pregnant card a lot lately. And before that it had been nobody bosses me around, b–ch!
Neither had thought seriously about the possibility that their offspring might inherit more than their rumpled good looks.
So It was a bit of rough magic that kept Honey transfixed at the kitchen table as Cowboy’s frequent guffaws over the antics of his lovable tobacco spitting, rough housing handyman/fishermen anti-heroes roamed the New England coast charming old ladies with clogged gutters and tossing plastic-encased smartphones over the deck of their heavily-mortgaged trawlers for a combination of deep sea crustacean fishing and bawdy commentary.
Usually worth a week’s wait in Honey’s book.
But tonight she could not take her eyes off the book. The next handy
Iist was called–Human Birth. Oddly enough all the human figures had a bit of a scaly dragon glint about their eyes and a sort of goatish chin fuzzy. Oddly disconcerting until she realized that her own scruffy Cowboy had the same facial hair. Hm. Those glasses the dragon was wearing looked suspiciously familiar….