Filthy Dirty

That's me. After my excessively cerebral day, I had a little excess energy. Threw on my latest workout clothes - major City Thrift windfall yesterday. Including today's outfit. Surfer shorts that fit just right, and tiny Carolina Blue basketball jersey with my second favorite number - 8. Don't tell Dude, but I found some really cute stuff. If he's sweet, I'll do my best to look cute in Boston. And since I've decided to check a bag, I'll have lots more options. Like more than two pairs of shoes. Maybe some bubble bath. A book or two, besides my airplane reading. Plus, I can shop. While he's in CLE. Bless his pea-pickin' heart. So glad I let my stupid CPA license go inactive. I have a feeling that texting could relieve the sting of continuing professional education. But dude says, and I quote, "Homey don't text." I almost ditched him right then and there. Not just for the refusal to text, but for the hokey comment.

But what he lacks in hipness (as far as pop-culture is concerned), he makes up in other areas. And I cut him a little slack for his advanced age.

Ok, my work here is done. I'm gonna wash this grime off my sweaty body. And make my packing list. As soon as I feed The Daddler...