Dusty came to town this weekend. Dwight and I had long been ready because Dusty told us to get ready a good month ahead of his arrival. There was a flurry of emails and calls ahead of his arrival. Then he arrived. And I saw him for fifteen seconds on Friday (hi, Dusty).
And then Dusty shunned us for his "interviews" and "BSU friends," forcing Dwight and I to hang out by ourselves. Which is always awkward. So we invited ourselves over Katie and Jackie's. They made things less awkward. They even cooked for us. And let me sleep over. (Dwight likes to hang around the BP house despite no longer being employed by BP- he likes receiving the glory and attention without any of the work) It was a mighty fine night with mighty fine chicken piccata. And some Jordanian jokes that were mighty difficult to follow. Followed by a leisurely Sunday morning with church, Midwesterners (sturdy folks), and a long, BP-gossip-and-carb-filled lunch. Really can't ask for anything more. Except Dusty, I guess.
I have more stories to tell you. But I keep putting them off in favor of things like going out and sleeping. My 4-month-old bruise has started hurting again tonight. I hope I don't lose a leg.
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