Day 4

OK, here's what's left.  We are home, and we didn't kill each other.

To clarify some things up, we didn't fight.  We joked about being sick of each other.  He jokingly glared at my shoe on his dash, but followed up with an, "Really, I don't care."

He was a bit vocal about those sharing the road with us. He did use some interesting language.  We did gripe a lot.  A. Lot.  When your butt is numb and  you've smelled smoke for 3 hours and you've seen all of these sights before?  You gripe.

We got home and Linda announced that she was leaving.  We have storms coming tonight and in the morning, and she hates driving in the rain.  I appreciate her help greatly.  We came home to a spotless house, dinner on the stove, and not ONE SPECK of dirty laundry.

Speaking of dirty laundry, I think I'll air some of mine here, for you.  You know, I'm an open book like that.  In the super-flattering image 20, if you look closely, in the bed of the truck, far right and center, that's a trash bag FULL of dirty laundry.

Guess what I'm doing now?  Well, other than sitting on my butt with the computer.  I'm doing laundry.  *sigh*  I'm too tired to gripe about it, though.  Thanks again, Grammy.  I'm going to bed.