Guess what we did the minute we unpacked in Minneapolis? We went out for Mexican food. Big mistake. Just a few days back we had superior Tex-Mex in Austin. No fair comparing the two. Should have waited until the urge had built to epic proportions.
Jeff, my jaded son-in-law, scoffs and wonders whether next we’ll be going to the rodeo. And buying cowboy boots.
Switching towns is fun, but stressful. The Great Migration requires 27 phone calls to notify doctors, magazines, cable companies, newspapers, etc.
Newspapers? Yes, if you’re of a certain age, you probably still read your local newspaper. (Segue alert) If so, your attention is often drawn to two special announcements which are taking on more impact with every passing day. I’m talking "obits" and the "married fifty years" fluff.
Both lie. Never is a single flaw revealed. And we all go along with the nudge, nudge, wink, wink confection.
Dead -- anybody can do that.
Married 50 years – child’s play.
Here’s the true test: the Mystery Woman and I have ridden 10,000 miles in the same car the past four years. With granny and a dog!