You know what's just terrible? Trying to get home and driving 45 miles in the wrong direction. Snapping out of your six-hour driving coma, glancing at the clock and thinking, "Hmm, should be just about home by now..." Then looking slowly around and saying, "...Um, where am I?" Answer? Nowhere near home. Do you know what forty-five miles in one direction plus the exact same forty-five miles in the other direction equals? About a ten-minute string of expletives, for one thing. Followed by another seventy minutes of jaw-grinding and forehead-smacking and full bladder wiggle-dancing.
I spent four days at my parents' house this week, and some of you may already know how I feel about that. On the plus side, there was deliciously sunny, hot weather, and this!:
("I like it except for the commentary," my sister said after watching it, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Which...ok. It's...not my best work. You may wish to watch the following with the sound off. You have been warned.)
This here is the little guy known as Deuce Magoose.
And this is the vicious Scruffster.
They're alright, when they're not chewing shoes, or the lid of every plastic container I had packed in my bag to bring back with me.
Anyway, I got back to Mythaca eight hours after I left Maryland this morning (grumble mutter), dressed in shorts and sleeveless top and sandals, all of which had been perfectly appropriate for the summery Maryland weather. When I finally I stepped out of the car it was into a cloudy haze with temperatures hovering around 60 degrees.