So assuming I can count correctly (and oh, Reader, what a large assumption that is), this is my tenth post in ten days. Never before has the Pic-Dem aspired to such sustained verbosity. Party hats and Sidecars for everybody!
Also: yesterday (today, when I write this; yesterday, by the time it posts; unspecified-future-date, when you read it) turned out to be not nearly as incredibly dreadful as I thought it was going to be. Hooray for unborne-out paranoia! And today (tomorrow, future, etc.), my favorite Hippish Clothing Boutique is having a moving sale, and Laura and I are going to go have breakfast at the Crystal Cafe (Grand Junction’s girliest restaurant!) and then go shop until we, or our strictly limited cashflows, drop.
And now a piece of family dialogue which reveals our unfortunate prejudices.
Fisher: Mama, Hippie [his stuffed hippo] wants to kiss you goodnight.
Me: Well, I don’t usually let hippies kiss me, but… [bending over for a peck from Hippie]
Fisher: It’s OK, Mama. He’s not that kind of hippie that doesn’t have a job or something.