That’s exactly what I did on Thursday.
I am here in the hotbed of sin known as Salt Lake City, Utah, having a fantastic time sans children, razzing my mom about turning 60, hanging my head in shame at how creative my sister Em and SIL Tres (are as evidenced by the FABULOUS party they threw Mom on Friday), kicking my brother’s butt at Rummikub (that’s right, BRO, yer butt!) and dragging around our Chinese exchange student, Tony all the while.
No worries, tomorrow I’m taking him sight-seeing to make up for the abuse of hanging out with my family.
If you feel I have been remiss in my visits and would like the opportunity to be graced by my presence, don’t call my cell because I forgot to bring the charger. Reach me at the in-laws, who I now believe to be equally as crazy as me since they are letting us stay with them and use a car, they can be found in the phone book. The public one and the secret Mormon one. LOL. Ok, really. They’re in the white pages. You know my last name. The married one, not the old one.
Reality settles back in on Wednesday, but not until the afternoon and only if I make it through the flight without downing my bottle of xanax. The magic of flight wore off and I am now terrified. Just ask the attendants.
Wait. Don’t. I have a certain reputation to uphold.
See you Wednesday!
Or Tuesday, depending on how cool you are.