I started to panic Tuesday night, thinking I’m running out of 20-something birthdays and I’ve been much too sober for most of ‘em, so I grabbed a date and trekked out at the stroke of midnight to my favorite bar.
I ordered “one chocolate birthday milkshake, please.” And wouldn’tchaknowit, the guys came back with candlelit ice-cream slop.
I hate it as much as she does. I’m used to my dog looking like this:
But if you get water on her, she looks like this:
She doesn’t seem to mind the blowdry, though.
1. I’m thankful for garden-fresh rosemary from the backyard.
2. I’m thankful for the sun setting over Santa-ready rooftops.
I know that I’m supposed to be blogging about this transformative journey I’m on, but sometimes I just need to stop and look at a picture of Joe.
I miss him.
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