Happy Trails to You

As we leave Florida this morning, I look back at a week spent soaking up the love.

Love and snide comments.

They go together like sex and cigarettes, Republicans and money, liver and red velvet cake.

Here are a few thrown my way by professed loved ones:

"Want some butter or salt with that? Don't be afraid of flavor, Kate."

"That's one hell of a forehead."

"Chablis? Jesus, you're cheap."

"Eat something."

"Who unloads only half the dishwasher?"

"Great nightgown. You look like Nana."

"Sure, we'll watch the boys. Go have fun."

"Katie, now that you're perfect in front, might as well get workin' on that ass. Way too flat. So exercise or buy some decent jeans. Either way."

"As we drove up here from Miami, I knew we were getting close to Tampa when we turned on the radio and heard Candlebox."

"What's the difference between vegetarian and regular stuffing? Oh wait, I know. One came out of a bird's ass."

Thank you Robert, Joe, Ariana, Kerri, Ish, Chris, Michelle, Mikey, Noreen, Ron, Chelsie, Robin, Victoria, Beth, Mike, Kristina, Sheila, Mishon, and that obnoxious Boston guy at O'Brien's. For driving up, spending time, making memories, attacking my life choices, and buying me drinks.

Let's do this in another five years, when I'm back in town, bitter from all the evangelicals and fifteen degree weather.

Later.