Hopping glad

While at work today, Dad brought me the disk to his camera containing photos from the wedding. He said he hadn’t taken a look at it yet but I could see if there was anything worth keeping. There was! He had the photos I was wishing we had: my mom looking beautiful in her dress, my dad and stepmom, my relatives from out of town that I hadn’t seen in what feels like 10 years, Derek’s parents, the best man, the maid of honor. He saved the day today. Hugs. I’ll try to get some online tomorrow and post a link.

Update on the little poop machine: he’s scampering around better, looks happier, but still isn’t eating. Drinking on his own, though, thank goodness. Tonight before bed he showed an interest in his food dish but no chowing down. Fingers still crossed.

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• What is my perfect crime? I break into Tiffany’s at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No. I go for the chandelier; it’s priceless. As I’m taking it down, a woman catches me. She tells me to stop. It’s her father’s business. She’s Tiffany. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell her to meet me in Mexico but I go to Canada. I don’t trust her. Besides, I love the cold. Thirty years later I get a postcard. I have a son. And he’s the Chief of Police. This is where the story gets interesting: I tell Tiffany to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. She’s been waiting for me all these years. She’s never taken another lover. I don’t care. I don’t show up. I go to Berlin. That’s where I stashed the chandelier.

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