The good thing about having to work on a national holiday, if there could be such a thing, is that I didn’t even tap the brakes coming into work. I don’t know why I didn’t just leave at 10 minutes to 8 because I would have been here on time. However, it’s about 50 degrees in my office and my feet are little blocks of ice. I might have to start a little fire with that pile of old phonebooks too keep warm.
I’d also like to report that I watched The Devil Wears Prada this weekend and did not think it was so great. It was watchable, but nothing special. It also brought up long repressed memories of being an assistant to a crazy person.
The true purpose of this post is to tell you about the Washington D.C. trip back in 1974. We did the standard sight-seeing and museum stuff but mostly what I remember are things like my sister throwing up in the car, losing my favorite red t-shirt on Chincoteague and the biting crabs in the water, insisting on taking the stairs down the Washington Monument and counting them, and being left alone for the night while the grownups went to New York.
In 1974 I was 10 years old. That means that the oldest person in the photo above was 14 and the youngest, 5. What were our parents thinking? I was telling my husband the story last night and he said, “Wait a minute. You mean they left you all alone with Jeff in charge?”
Look at Aunt Janet and Uncle Barry and my Mom all decked out in her pink-checked mini-dress wandering around NYC having a blast while their young children were hundreds of miles away under the supervision of a 14 year old.
We ended up opening a brothel for the night and making oodles of cash and never would have been caught if it hadn’t been for that crack in Janet’s crystal egg.