Farmer Jon To The Rescue!

    There are two things to NOT say when your wife tells you she found a snake in the kitchen:
1) "Oh, it's just a baby snake!" and
2) "Well, we've never had a snake in the house before...." (seriously, because THAT matters NOW?)

    The correct response is:
1) "Oh my gosh! Quick, get the For Sale sign!" or
2) "Honey, this must have been so hard for you.... I think you deserve a new pair of shoes."

    For the record, the snake was fast, it appeared out of nowhere, and I'm not convinced it's mother won't come looking for it.... (if the mother isn't already in here hiding somewhere....). I was proud of myself, however, because once I saw that the "baby" snake (or lengthly-challenged reptile.... gotta be PC even in the animal kingdom) could move pretty speedily across our kitchen floor, in the heat of the moment, I thought to grab our big popcorn bowl and put it on top of him/her/it so the snake couldn't escape into the rest of the house.
    So then, as I sat there staring at the bowl to make sure it didn't move, I realized I had to do something else (anything really). As luck would have it, our friendly neighborhood farmer turned up to make his nightly visit to his tractor sitting in our field. I ran out to grab him (since my husband, who was on the phone, was less than panicky... which annoyed me greatly, as it wasn't HE who was staring at our blue popcorn bowl housing a snake!). Our farmer friend, although slightly more skiddish than I expected, removed the unwanted slitherer and returned my bowl.... which will probably be securely positioned next to my bed in case I awaken to find a snake in my room next. But if I do find a snake again, I'll be sure to call on my farmer!

Memorial Weekend Memories

    With it being a long weekend for Memorial Day, I was looking for something fun to do. Alas, I came up emtpy handed. My husband, however, would not let my need for socialization be crushed. I was amazed at his diligence to plan out at least one fun activity for us to do each day during our time off from work. On Friday, he noted my need for being around others and we spent the evening with friends and playing with cute little boys (ah, my "mommy need" required some attention). Then, on Saturday, he and I went to a wine tasting where we encountered the single craziest woman we've ever encountered (and that's saying something, considering we've met a LOT of unstable people during our line of work!). She provided us with comic relief for the afternoon as she lost her train of thought with every sentence, was convinced my husband was a cop, and told us (repeatedly) about her divorce. Following our visit with the Nutty McNutterson, we went to a movie with his brother and sister-in-law and then went to our neighbor's house for a bon fire with friends. Sunday was a day of rest and relaxation after church, but we DID end up purchasing a swimming pool! The couple gave us an incredible deal and threw in everything needed for our 4-foot tall oasis. If only we could set it up....
    However, my favorite Memorial Day weekend memory is easy to pinpoint. My guy had the greatest idea of all for this day. His idea was to borrow kayaks from our friends and boat our way down the Connoquenessing. It was a beautiful day, sunny as can be, great for being in the water.... just ask my husband. Afterall, he flipped his kayak and drenched himself before we'd made it around the first bend of our 8-mile trek. Why did he spill, you may ask? He was trying to catch up to his quickly moving, far superior wife. He got paddling so fast he threw himself off balance trying to be as cool as me! My only regret of the day was paddling in front of him and missing the actual tipping. Although, I did rather enjoy watching him try to get back into the kayak, filling it with water and falling back out (it's a good thing I kept the supplies in MY boat!). In his defense, it was his first time kayaking, and he managed to keep himself afloat from that point on. Not that I stopped teasing him for 8 miles...

Chewbacca

    Tonight I was called "Chewbacca" by a 2-year-old. My husband has found great joy in this. Earlier today, he had made a comment stating that I had a hairy back. Now, whereas I know this is untrue and that he was just tyring to tease me, being called Chewy tonight by a toddler has made me reconsider laser surgery. (Ok, so perhaps this child IS obsessed with Star Wars, according to his mother, and the name Shivonne is rather difficult to say... AND he did call Pat a Storm Trooper.... so I guess I can't be THAT offended.) Needless to say, my hubby has relished in calling me Chewbacca all night, and I don't forsee this ending in the near future. I'm just glad this didn't happen before our wedding 8 months ago. "I, Storm Trooper, take thee, Chewbacca, to be my lawfully wedded Star Wars character...." Even though the kid was highly offensive, he was so cute that I couldn't be angry. There's something about they way he lisped my new nickname that made it rather endearing. Unfortunately, my husband lacks the same childish quality when he mimics the boy. (Not to say that he isn't childish, but there's something a bit off when a large man with a deep voice and gottee tries to make a funny, opposed to a mere baby.) Im just sorry I couln't be Princess Leah. Afterall, those side buns are pretty amazing and I'd much rather be known for her cute ensemble than a dark, hairy rug. But, as we know, children say it like it is. I guess it's time for a good waxing!

Sucking Up

    After 8 months into this marriage thing, my husband loses his wedding ring. I hate to say "I told you so" (who am I kidding, no I don't), but how many times does a woman have to tell her man to stop throwing his ring up in the air, spinning it on the table, or twirling it on his finger? Naturally, the best place to lose a heavy, tungstun wedding band is at dusk... right before a thunderstorm... in a 40-acre yard. My husband neglected to tell me that he lost the ring until the next day (because having a coronary is only bad right before bed apparently?). He and his mother spent several days raking the yard, walking barefoot to feel the metal with their toes, and even resorted to borrowing a metal detector (which he ended up breaking...oops), only to find that metal detectors detect everything BUT tungston!
    Several heavy rainstorms later, I'm pretty sure there's not a chance in this world that his ring hasn't soaked right down to the center of the earth. I'm incredibly angry.... However, secretly I'm a little bit tickled, and this is why. Since this ring "disappeared" (he even tried to blame it on the dog. I mean, come on!), my hubby has volunteered to make me breakfast, offered to bring me dinner at work, and is trying to find plans for us to do during the long weekend coming up. Some call this sucking up. Wives call it an payment.... because even when her man hasn't done anything requiring a good suck up, we all know that it's just a matter of time before his bill is due.

Something Smells Fishy....

    It's not like I was TRYING to give my husband food poisoning. It's this darn sinus infection /  allergy combination! After a long, hard day of working in the yard, I figured that my wonderful guy deserved to sit down to a delicious meal. When I opened the freezer to find something to make for him, I noticed an odd, fishy smell. Normally, this is the type of thing that would clue me in to something being spoiled. But since my nose is all kinds of crazy right now, I figured everything was fine... in fact, it gave me the brilliant idea to cook up some perch (purchased for $1.64 at our local grocer... ah, this should've been the second clue...).
    The fish was slightly sticky and a little grayish in parts (clue number 3, anyone?), but it's not like I'm a professional perch-examiner! It's nothing a little creole seasoning can't fix, right? Wrong.... oh so wrong. I put the plate of fish and a beautiful salad in front of my husband... naturally, I ate hours ago, so I wouldn't be supping on the discolored, smelly, sticky, creole concoction with him (once again, I would like to reiterate that I did not TRY to give my husband food poisoning). He took a bite and made a face. Ugh, again? Why can't he just be happy with something that's a little different without analyzing it to death!
    "What's that weird taste?" he asked me. I responded only slightly huffy. "It's creole seasoning... it gives the fish a new spice to switch things up a little. It's good that way." Several bites later, the nasty look has yet to leave my hubby's puckered face. "Honey, I really don't think I like this seasoning. Will you taste it?" If it will get him to knock off his whining and eat his dinner, I'll put the fish on my head and do a dance!
    It only took one small bite before clues 1, 2, and 3, hit me over the head like a sledge hammer. (The nasty taste of rotten fish also helped.) My first instinct was to spit the food back onto his plate... unfortunately, I have not yet learned how to control my impulses. As my partially chewed fish parts layed atop the rest of his dinner, he looked at me with an accusing face. Like I said... I did not TRY to poison my husband! (Despite my threats in previous blogs....)

Goodbye, My Sweet

    This diet has been one of the easiest diets I have ever tried to follow. My husband and I have noticed an overwhelming feeling of "healthiness" as we've eaten mostly vegetables, fruits, and proteins these last few weeks. The scale is tipping in our favor, slowly but surely... but even more impressive is the change in our sleeping (more regular), energy level (more consistent), and bowels (were you expecting something descriptive here?). In order to reward ourselves for our hard work and effort, we decided to have a "cheat" evening to help jump start our metabolism, throwing off our system by straying from our new routine.... keep it on it's toes! My Cheat involved cheesy, bacon, ranch pizza, followed by a bowl of ice cream with hot fudge sauce. Surely, that will give my body a jump!
    And it did.... an hour after the ice cream, everything that was once inside of my body jumped to the outside of my body. In between the painful tummy cramps, moaning, sweating, dry heaves, and the runs (ah, HERE'S the gross description you all wanted), I decided that perhaps I have a bit of a sensitivity to dairy (noting that the first 4 letters of "dairy" are also in the word "diarrhea"... how had I not made the connection before!). It was in those painful moments as I gripped the edge of the toilet seat that I swore off ice cream.... forever. It's bittersweet, really. Ice cream has been my pick-me-up after a bad day, faithful friend after a break-up, hidden vice (hidden so no one else will find it and eat it!), and favorite overall treat since I was a little tike. But today, today I realized that some relationships are not meant to last. And we all know that if a relationship yields pain, it has to go. So, I bid my sweet ice cream a fond farewell as I move on to my rebound-food.... the fruit smoothie.

Mammogram, Say What?

    After a nyquil-induced coma, I woke up this morning, raring to go get the lump in my neck sucked out. I arrived at the hospital just in time to get a nose bleed. I'm not sure what it is about my upper lip... can it NOT sense that something is dripping down it BEFORE my the blood reaches my shirt? (No. It cannot.) While I'm holding my head back in the waiting room bathroom with paper towel shoved up my left nostril, attempting to wash the blood off my chest, my name gets called to go back to the exam room. Now drenched, stained, and holding my nose, the nurse asks me, "So, Ms. Costa, are you ready for your mammogram?"
    Um, excuse me? (I thought.) "Um, excuse me?" (I said.)
    "You're here for your mammogram, is that correct?", says the nurse.
    "No... I have a thyroid biopsy I'm getting done," I replied.
    "Well, it says here you're getting a mammogram.... so....."
    "I'm pretty sure I would know if I was getting a mammorgram. I mean, it's not even like it's the right part of the body, here."
    "You're sure you're not getting a mammogram?"
    I scanned the crowd for Ashton Kutcher's face, but I realized I wasn't getting punked. "I'm getting a biopsy. On my thyroid. No boobs. I swear."
    The nurse looked at me and then realized she had the wrong person's file. Ah (lightbulb). So I'm led to the exam bed, thoroughly sanitzed from my chest to my ears, and then the nurse doused me in iodine, completely saturating my skin, hair, and even into my ears! (Easy, lady, I'm just as scared of drowning as I am of needles.) The doctor then tilted my head back till I felt like I was choking, covered my face with a blanket, and began pushing on my throat, sufficiently blocking my air supply. As if I wasn't freaked out enough, the one eye that managed to stay uncovered through this smothering event looks up in time to see the world's largest needle coming at me.
    "I feel like I'm gonna throw up!", I blurted. "Just don't swallow, please. We need you to be still," said the doctor. So as I layed there, blood-stained, idiodine-drenched, suffocating, and being stabbed, I realized that there was nowhere for my gag reflux-induced saliva to go but out.... so I drooled all over my face. Defacating in my pants was really the only thing that saved this event from covering pretty much all of my nightmares that I can remember from adolescence.
    When it was all over, the nurse taped up my neck, making sure to attach every loose piece of hair into the sticky mess, which was really quite sweet of her, considering I was going straight to work and already looked like I had escaped from a mental hospital... let's rip my hair out a bit too, just for kicks. I thanked the staff and was on my way. As I passed the registration desk, the receptionist asked me how everything went. "The mammogram was a success!" I said, as I smiled and walked out the door.

Bring On The Novocain!

    I have found the bright spot of having a terrible sinus infection-- it's my husband doing the dishes (well, two bright spots.... if you count the inability to taste anything, therefore seeing no point to eating much, inadvertantly losing weight (score)). But I HATE dishes. I always have, and I always will. Ever since I've been sick, he has kept up on the dirty AND clean ones in the dishwasher like a champ! Not to mention the cups of tea he's preparing me daily, and also offering to make me food at any given time. He will make a wonderful mother someday.
    In addition to his awesomeness with this sinus infection, he is also willing to accompany me to the hospital tomorrow, where I will be receiving a much-anticipated biopsy of some lump inside my neck ("sexy" doesn't begin to describe the internal workings of my body). I, being utterly terrified of needles (particularly ones that are long and will be going into my throat-al region), have been having minor panic attacks just THINKING about this procedure. So, today I called the doctor's office for a step-by-step tutorial of how this procedure will work... realizing that I'm making a much bigger deal of this than it needs to be. And I must say, after the phone call, I don't feel the slightest bit better.
    "Prepare yourself for a shot of novocain in your neck," the nurse said. (Oh, ok. I'll get right on that. By the way, doesn't novocain burn like a blow torch?) "Then, the doctor will insert a long needle into your neck in order to suck out part of the nodule." (How long are we talking, here? Inches? Feet?! I need to know the circumference of this needle, for the love of God!!!) "We won't remove the entire lump, just enough to biopsy it." (Naturally. It only makes sense to have to do this a second time in order to remove the other half of the "lump". Good call, Doc.) "And the neat part is (I'm sorry, did you say "neat"?) that you can watch all of this on a video camera next to your examination bed." (Truly, truly? Bring on the laughing gas or restraining straps, sister, 'cause there's only two ways this thing is going down....) "After the procedure, you'll feel like you've been punched in the throat and will have a bit of a hole with a bruise in your neck, but all in all, you'll be ready to go to work that day!" (Seriously? Lady, will you come home with me and read me a bedtime story? Because you have an incredibly soothing way with words.) And what part of that makes me ready for work? Could it be the hole in my neck? Or possibly the feeling of being punched? At least my loving hubby will be with me.... I'd much rather be restrained by someone I love than a complete stranger.

The Greatest Of Weekends

    It was a great weekend. One of those weekends where it rains incessantly, leaving you no choice but to hole up in bed with your hubby, watching movies, giggling, and enjoying one another's company. Really, this type of weekend is a rare occurrence. Usually our days off are filled with working in the yard (him), cleaning the house (me), laundry, and fixing the trillions of things that always seem to be breaking. But not this weekend. So the house isn't spotless... the grass needs to be mowed... and we didn't fix a thing. When push comes to shove, I'd much rather lie on wrinkled and rumpled sheets with my husband than perfectly creased and folded ones alone.
    Yes, it was a great weekend. Well, up until the time that husband passed on a sinus infection to me. Don't get me wrong, I don't fault him. We both work with snot-nosed, little rugrats day in and day out. We can't help being carriers of illness and infection. (It DOES make me kinda wish I'd cleaned those sheets though....) But at least my guy has been sweet, making me soup, bringing me tea, and telling me that he's going to start his own blog to tell the world that he's a wonderful husband... but then again, you all already know that by now, don't you?

I'm Only Mean When You're Dumb

    I love to have a clean kitchen. The counters free of clutter, the cupboards nicely organized and contact papered, the stove and cannisters wiped and streak-free.... everything in it's rightful place. That's why I can tell when someone (ahem) has been in my cupboards, created a mess, and then tried to cover it up.
   
Begin Scene.

    It was 8:30 this morning when I decided to do a quick kitchen clean up before leaving for work. As I was emptying the dishwasher, I noticed that my large cooking pot was on top of my pyrex, instead of in it's place underneath the smaller pots two cupboards over. Hmmm. (This was AFTER I found soggy lettuce attached to the CLEAN spoons in the dishwasher.) Obviously, a boy has been here. I dutifully removed the large pot, ready to place it with the others, when I discovered a mound of toast crumbs all over my bowls and serving dishes!
    Conveniently, my husband walked in at that moment and spotted me squatting down by the pyrex. I looked him square in the eye and asked the question. "Did you try to put the toaster in the cupboard?" He was caught. So he began to spew out excuses in rapid succession. "I was trying to clean the kitchen! And we haven't been eating bread, so I tried to get the toaster off the counter! And..."
    "And then you realized there's a REASON the toaster stays on the counter.... BECAUSE OF THE CRUMBS!!! And THEN you covered the crumbs up WITH A POT instead of cleaning up the mess??? Are you out of your mind?!"
    "Why are you being so mean?"
    "I'm only mean when you're dumb!"
    And so started my day.

End Scene.

Flying Pineapple

   There are times in everyone's lives when they regret moments that they acted out in anger, said words that were hurtful, or behaved impulsively. Today, I regretted throwing a pineapple at my husband. Well, half of a pineapple to be exact.
    The morning started out normal enough. And then I stepped out of bed. From that point on, it was disaster at every turn. From finding termites in the house, to discovering unapproved purchases on my bank statement, to not having enough money to pay this month's bills, missing my friends, (missing chocolate), and feeling like a big, fat, failure in general.... yeah, it wasn't a great morning! To make matters worse, (because I hadn't shed enough tears by 11am as it was?) my mother informed me that my grandpa was in intensive care with a head injury after a fall. As my anxiety rose to shaky levels, panic taking over my entire being, I had no idea how I was going to take care of all of these dilemmas that seemed to be vying for my undivided attention (all before I had to leave for work). My brain came up with a solution. Eat.
    Somehow, in my crazed state, I was able to remember my diet and I began slicing fruit (quite the feat when one's hands are shaking like an addict going through withdrawals). In an attempt to put the milk jug away, I realized that the pineapple we were keeping in the fridge had slid over to where the milk had been. And this is where things got a little hazy (perhaps pleading temporary insanity will help my case?). I gently (or not so gently) shoved the pineapply back over and went to put the milk in it's place... but the pineapple beat me to the punch and slid back over. With a huff, I attempted the same task. In defiance, that God-forsaken pineapple moved AGAIN. Before my mind had a chance to register what was taking place, I was reaching for the pokey fruit and hurling it across the room (problem solved). Sadly, that's exactly where my unsuspecting husband was seated.
    Now, I've never thrown a pineapple at someone before, but I'm pretty sure it would hurt. In fact, I've never thrown fruit of any kind at another person (that I can recall), but if I were to do it, I would think an apple or mango would be my choice (just for ease-of-hurl to damage-upon-impact ratio). Not a pineapple. But that's neither here nor there. I quickly apologized to my husband, who was doing everything he could to give me love and affection during my mental breakdown. He didn't deserve to be hit with fruit... at least not today. But I'm pretty sure that it's safe to say that, although he loves me and understands my morning crisis, he's NEVER going to let me live down the day that I clocked him with a pineapple.

The Kitchen Killer

    For several weeks now, I've been getting terrified by the sight of my husband. I know, I know... I make it sound as if my guy looks like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. But that's not it at all. I've literally been getting startled out of my mind when he appears somewhere unexpected in the house or if he says something when I thought he was taking a nap. Over the last month, I've probably had near-wet-pants at least a dozen times due to my husband's "sneak attacks". For instance, last week my t.v. was on and I was lying in bed. I thought my hubby was outside, so imagine my shock when he suddenly appears in the doorway, ready to shoot the breeze. I practically had a stroke! And then, I thought he had gone into the kitchen and was on my way there to see him, when he suddenly came up behind me from the guest bedroom. Once again, I yelled out and my breath caught in my throat. (I think he may be doing this on purpose to keep me on my toes... he's up to something, I can feel it!)
    Today was no exception. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner, when he rode up on his quad next to the kitchen window (notice that I did NOT freak out at this point). We carried on a lovely conversation through the open window as he sat on his 4-wheeler. The conversation ended and he went away (or so I thought) and I went back to cooking. So you can see why I would scream when I turn back to the window and see that he had apparently gotten off the quad and was standing with his face up against the screen.... with his nearly black hair, dark eyes, and scruffy gottee, he's the poster child for serial killers that come for their victims through kitchen windows. I screamed. He shook his head in disbelief that I was YET AGAIN frightened by him. He keeps telling me that one day I'm going to have to accept the fact that he does, in fact, live with me and that we will continue to cross paths on occasion. I think I'll keep the paring knife with me, just in case....

Beach Balls And Pumpkins

    Our Diet Wars at work was going so well.... this morning, my husband woke up and weighed himself, finding that he had lost 6 pounds. I then weighed myself and discovered that I had lost 4! I was so excited because this is only Day 5 and I'm loving to see the scale changing in my favor for once. So, I continued to eat well all day long and have actually been enjoying my vegetables (it's pure craziness, really!). However, I arrived home and felt suddenly exhausted beyond belief. I cooked dinner (venison taco meat with onion and diced tomatoes, wrapped in romain leaves) and then went upstairs to change into my pjs. My husband, noting my tiredness and slightly crabby (crappy) demeanor, decided that it would be best if I just laid down and he left me alone (good call).
    But this was before he told me that my butt looked like a beach ball and my stomach looked like a pumpkin. I'm not even joking. When my face began to crumble, he said, "No, your butt isn't big like a beach ball, your underwear just makes it look that way!" I'm pretty sure I didn't wear padded panties today (or ever) so not sure how my undies created this "beach ball" effect. Then he told me that my belly looked like a pumpkin, ya know, because I'm "bloated and all". When I responded with, "Gee, thanks," he said, "Well not your belly, just your body... like all over is bloated." Allow me to help you reach your foot to your mouth, dear. Glad to know my -4 pounds is giving me a lighter, yet puffier look. I think it's time I take my Shamoo nametag and retire for the rest of the night. Alone!

Cooking Lessons And The Rag

    Let the record show that, although my husband wrongfully accused me of PMS a few weeks back, he would be correct to accuse me of such things tonight (correct, but not wise). So, knowing full well that my I'm probably going to die of an iron deficiency by the end of the night, I'm not quite sure why my husband RELISHED in trying my patience. Now, I knew I was being a nag. I knew I was being short-fused. But then again, so did he. And yet he continued to do things like... exist. Let me back up to the beginning.
    I cooked a beautiful salmon to put over top spinach leaves with pecans, grapes, and raspberry vinegarette. It smelled and looked so beautiful, that even my hateful girl parts couldn't ruin the dinner. But my husband could. "Why didn't you put teryaki sauce on it?" (Him.) "Because teryaki sauce isn't part of our diet." (Me.) "But it looks weird." (Him.) My mouth responded with, "Too bad. It's a diet, suck it up." My mind responded with, "I'm going to carve out your heart and grill it up in teryaki sauce if you don't shut your pie hole!" See how much I showed restraint, even with PMS?
    After dinner, my guy decided to make a meatloaf (yes, more meatloaf) so we would have it for lunch tomorrow. I had the recipe written down for him, but he wanted me to stay in the kitchen while he followed it, just to make sure he did it right. As I listened to him criticize my direction-writing abilities, I pictured all the ways that I could poison the meatloaf and make it look like an accident. As I was daydreaming about assassinating my husband, he takes out the measuring spoons, uses them, and then PUTS THEM BACK IN THE DRAWER. He realized his mistake instantly and looked up in time to see my eyes bulge, face redden, and Satan's wrath come pouring out of my snarling mouth. "You NEVER put dirty measuring spoons back in the drawer!!!!!" I yelled as I yanked them out, noting the spices littering the contact paper in my utensil drawer. "Bubba, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention?" It's not bad enough that I'm bloated, pimply, and leaking like a bad faucet... but now there's pepper in the drawer! (And yes, I DO realize I'm being irrational (slightly).... but don't tell my husband.)

Priorities

    I had a wonderful weekend out of town with my girlfriend at her shower and bachelorette party, meeting new friends, and spending time with my family. But I have to admit, although I was having a great time, I did miss my guy (especially when he sent me a text telling me that he was in the middle of cleaning the house and washing my bedding!). I was beyond delighted when I arrived home to a straightened house and fresh sheets (perfect for immediately tossing my exhausted body into).
    I even managed to put out of my mind how utterly starving I was after the first day of our new diet (well, almost). Of course, my husband conveniently "forgot" about May 1st (the long-awaited date we had scheduled for my co-workers and our spouses to shed some unwanted winter pounds through a month-long diet). So naturally, he binged like nuts and felt fit as a fiddle, whereas I could feel my stomach trying to eat my spinal cord with each nauseating growl. After the usual "let's eat all that we can before we start dieting" ritual I partook in (a little too aggressively), my chubby belly went into withdrawl after 12 hours on the diet.
    To remedy last night's tummy hunger, however, I made a very filling dinner with all the good stuff we can eat. My husband seemed to think that cooking dinner, preparing lunch for the next day, and cleaning the kitchen were all a ruse.... a mere way to avoid hubby-cuddle-time. He actually went as far as to write out a priority list, numbering all of the things I was putting before him (pretty much everything) including work, our dogs, and shoes. Seriously? We'll see how long he complains if I call off work for the next week, telling my boss, "I'm sorry, I won't be coming in today. I need to get fresh with my husband." And then, when we're collecting food stamps and begging for nickels along Route 68, I'll simply look at him and say, "At least we still have my shoes."