Lemonade

It has been noted in some circles that I seem to have an inordinate amount of car troubles. A disproportionate amount compared to how much I drive, certainly. Mostly we walk, and drive rarely, maybe once every week or two.

So it was with incredulous dismay when I opened an innocent looking envelope to find that if two more days had passed, our car would have been declared abandoned and sold at auction. Yes, we were served a notice of vehicle impound. Lake promptly peed on it. It’s been one of those days.

So, we are going to make it a family date night and check out some yummy Ethiopian food up near Lincoln Towing on Aurora, where my car is being held ransom for $250. I love my husband. He’s like simply, “Oh did I park it badly? Let’s go get Ethiopian, then.” He’s an inspiration for me when it comes to letting stuff roll off and turning lemons into lemonade.

Lately I’ve been trying to set up a few single friends. I’m perplexed by the refrain

Is he cute?

Is he cute?! Cute is subjective. My husband is the absolute cutest! He makes me laugh when I have a downer day. Laughing so hard my cheeks hurt. That’s cute. We are getting Ethiopian after we claim our car. That’s cute. What you really want to be asking is