A funny thing happened on the way to the forum...no, wait, that's not right. A funny thing happened on the way home from a friend's house--that's the one. Actually, not even on the way. In the driveway, where my beautiful, much-adored Tahoe refused to start. It had done so the previous evening at the Boy Scout Camp (more on that later), but it started the second time. This time it just made lots of noises that I couldn't identify and wouldn't go. So I had my buddy's mom come out and try it, because this one time in the Northwest parking lot my steering wheel locked and it wouldn't let me turn the key, so I had to go ask the manly football guys to come help me and of course they got it on the first try by brute force alone. Embarassing.
Anyway no one could make it start, so her dad poked around under the hood and eventually we called the AAA people. Fortunately my mom had recently furnished me with this nifty AAA card, which meant--in theory--that I could call them up and they'd come running to rescue the damsel in distress. Even if it was a national holiday. But no, my friends. As it turns out, tow truck operators have the option of refusing to tow you somewhere if they don't want to go that far away. Even if they work for AAA. Even if you are a card-carrying member of said organization, and your mother pays them a pretty penny for the service that they are currently refusing to render. In short, after waiting for the first tow truck, the guy wouldn't go to Windsor--he refused to leave Farmington at all. Since my friend's family was supposed to be at this party, they ended up leaving me and Sara behind in there house watching Shrek waiting for another repair guy to arrive and take us at break-neck speed back to Windsor.
Did I mention that I have an amazing propensity for being caught in such situations in embarrassing attire? When I got up today I said to Sara, I'm not putting my clothes on. I'm just going to go back to bed when I get home anyway. So Michelle got to get picked up wearing a bright pink tshirt and purple plaid boxers. Yipee for the fasion queen.

However, the upshot of it all is that I'm back in my comfortable home, surrounded by all the amenities of civilization. Such as air conditioning! *falls down in worship of the god of Central Air* I now have the power to make my house the equivalent temperature of an igloo, causing myself to run around looking for socks because my feet are freezing. I prefer to freeze rather than to fry. I have no idea how all those little Boy Scouts are managing down at Mattatuck, but I don't envy them. If they had that camp in the fall, that'd be great. That area must be incredible when the trees are turning colors. However, when the sun is hot enough to seriously tempt one into violating those pesky "indecent exposure" laws, I draw the line. Those laws were drawn up by a bunch of suits in an air conditioned legislature, for God's sake!
It really was worth all the physical discomfort to see Greg, though. It was funny, the night before I had a dream about seeing him at camp and his hair was longer...and lo and behold, his hair really was longer. At least he didn't ask me about potatoes like he did in the dream. That really pissed me off; I hadn't seen him in a week and he's asking about complex carbohydrates? Really. The nerve of that dream-greg. Although if dreams are the expression of your subconscious, what the heck is mine thinking? That he's got a potato fixation?
He's coming home on Saturday, though. That's very good, very very good, because seeing him last night just made me miss him more, and I already really missed him before that. I probably have an advantage though, seeing as how I get to miss him from within the creature comforts of my house, whereas he gets to miss me from a tent in the woods. The very warm woods, with all the bugs and smelly little boys. Yes, I think I prefer to miss him from Windsor...but I'd rather not miss him at all and have him all to myself. I love him.