After driving Dad's car all the way back from Tallahassee, slipping into my old subaru for a run to the store was surprisingly nice. Sure, Dad's car is way, way nicer (my girl is 8.5 years old, just shy of 80,000 miles, has squeaky breaks, scratches on all four bumper corners from street parking in Cleveland, and is starting to rust in a few places on the hood, but she's all mine). And after as many quality hours as we've spent, just the two of us, my baby feels like a perfectly broken in pair of jeans.

So the last of the 'older' cousins got married this weekend. Which means, gulp, I'm next! Not really, as, thank goodness, my family isn't really like that. But Janet did it up right, with a short and sweet ceremony (even if the priest's homily did seem a bit creepy to me) and a rocking reception. She even spared us the tossing of the bouquet, instead just handing it off to a little flower girl who was more excited than any of the rest of us would have been were we made to take part in that particular ritual.

In other news, I got picked up at the grocery store the other night. The whole thing was completely surreal, and straight out of some cheesy movie. Ah well, at least this time it wasn't an employee.