Mark Bittman, how do I love you? Let me count all 101 ways, most involving directions such as "top with a six-minute egg" or "serve with prosciutto" or "brown a stick of butter with a cup of pine nuts".
I wore this dress for the first time today, and though it's short! short! short! and I am generally not one for minidresses, I came to the conclusion that others will only think it is too short if I walk like it is too short. Out with the hunching over and the self-conscious pulling down of the back hem, and in with the strut. Damn right I'm going to the head of the line at the bank today, boys.
(yes, I left the date stamp half-on: just too lazy to properly edit after cropping.)
So, last Tuesday Noah and I left to do a gigantic road trip of family visiting. We were to spend Tuesday, Wednesday, and part of Thursday with his parents in Rochester (who I'd never met, by the way- this was to be the initial meeting after almost five years, compounded with "it's nice to meet you, we'll be staying at your house for a few days"), drive to my parents' in Nebraska for Friday and Saturday with them, and then add in a lunch with my grandparents on Saturday afternoon. Whew.
Well, thankfully his parents are very gracious and welcoming, and pretty much exactly as described to me, so I was fairly well prepared. His mother, to her eternal credit, was able to show me around the house and say "and this is the bedroom where you two will sleep while you're here" without even blushing. His dad even took it upon himself to change the oil in our car before we drove off on Thursday afternoon, something that I'd have not done myself.
My parents, though still very adamant about separate bedrooms (and I am how old?), were thrilled to see Noah. Now, he'd never been to Kearney before, and his first words upon entering the house were "it's SO CLEAN! I'm going to mess something up if I walk on the floor!"- which, if you've met my mother, will come as zero surprise. 'Museum-like air of spotlessness' doesn't even begin to describe the level of sanitization of their home.
At lunch with the grandparents (which included the most amazing fresh peach pie ever to be created, courtesy Grandma), Noah got to see where a bit of my macabre side comes from, as Grandma sat down at the table and asked if we'd heard about the boy who was trapped in a microwave and died. No, we hadn't, so then we asked her for all the details of said death. This then segued into a discussion of a distantly related great-aunt-once-removed or somesuch, and how she's kept her son shackled to her for thirty years and won't let him hold a job, have a driver's license, and leave the house without her. Yes, Noah, I am related to a reclusive potential sociopath with mommy issues. Have fun.
On-the-road purchase to be returned at the first opportunity: a Belkin FM transmitter for my iPod. Worthless, worthless piece of $20 plastic. Guess I'll have to spring the extra $40 for a Kensington transmitter in order to be able to hear anything Ira Glass is saying.