Mr. Graves: There, now I just need to flesh it out a bit.
Mrs. Graves: You need to do more than just 'flesh it out.'
Mr. Graves: I'll get fleshy after the Cavs' game. Wink.
Mrs. Graves: The hell you will. You haven't even cut the grass yet.
The above is a tale of fiction. With my legendary work ethic by my side, I slaughtered the grass with my spinning blade of suburban death the way a cook slaughters dead cow parts with a fresh set of Ginsu knives. Before the Cavs' game.
I didn't get fleshy though, for I fell asleep on the couch working on my paper. Scholarship before sensuality, that's my motto. And the real reason I slept on the couch.
But I busted my ass yesterday and the paper is coming along nicely.