1, 2, 3... Pasta!

Imagine you are a swimming pool and a small child is running at you to perform his very best cannonball right on top of you.

That's what I felt like tonight, as Turbo asked me to lie on the floor next to the coffee table. I should have had some kind of clue of what was coming, but in my sleep-deprived state, I laid down obediently and awaited my next instructions.

Turbo climbed onto the coffee table and before I could think to say, 'no,' I am suddenly the recipient of a tiny cannonball butt flying in my direction, with the war cry:

"1, 2, 3... Pasta!"