Yesterday I drove down to Georgia to spend New Year’s Eve with my college friends. We’ve convened at Sandwich’s house, and since I think the Sweet Tater blogger-reader relationship has progressed beyond basic factual information, I am no longer going to explain why her name is Sandwich. You have to just accept that as fact.
This is what she looks like:
My trip got off to a rocky start with an early-morning visit to the DMV. Now my new decal is in place and I am no longer a criminal. Three hours behind schedule and a mere four exits into my drive to Georgia, I had that familiar sinking feeling that Weasel must have escaped when I was loading up my luggage. Face flushed, near hyperventilation and sensing vomit might be traveling up my esophagus, I turned around and went straight back home. Where I found her (and Ralph) already asleep on my bed.
How do people have children? Does that ever-present sense of doom and despair never go away? If not, I shall remain childless and cat-iful the rest of my days.
When I finally got in around 7:30pm, my friends were already knee deep in video games, beer, tasty treats and MORE CATS. TWO CATS. I shall feature them tomorrow on Caturday.
We made vegetarian chili, danced and sang our hearts out and I was the first to bed at 3:30am. Who am I?
There’s no telling what went on after I went to bed because this morning I was greeted by this guy: