The other night, Durel and Jack had "man time." This entailed a haircut (Jack), a sports bar for dinner (Jack and Durel), and a trip to Menchies (ostensibly Jack, but who doesn't love Menchies?).
When I say "sports bar," I really mean a restaurant with a lot of TVs. TVs that are turned to sporting events, not to Bravo for Project Runway reruns. (Although, that's not a bad idea. Ten kinds of white wine by the glass and TVs showing The Golden Girls, Felicity, and You've Got Mail?)
The hostess was trying to assess whether Durel and Jack were eligible to sit in the bar area for dinner. She sized them up, turned to Durel and asked, "Is he twelve?"
No. Nope, he is not. He is FOUR. He looks nothing like a twelve year old. From Earth.
So, they sat outside.
This snapshot from the dinner gives a pretty good overview of where Jack is these days. He is a little man. He loves cheeseburgers and Star Wars. And he does not look twelve yet.
Gratuitous froyo shot:
Hope your devil may care attitude is adorable today.