I am tired. Somewhat like this yeti father, who absolutely hates that mother has stayed behind in the hotel indulging on chocolates and the latino boy from her favorite soap opera. O-la-la. He can picture her just taking a bath, relaxing, and realizes that his instinct to procreate was severely wrong. Maybe one, but his line of yeti genes were blessed with large liters. Did he care then? No. Does he regret it? Oh, absolutely.
