So I blow dried (blew dry?) my hair, put on some makeup and a pair of cute slingback wedges with the intention of leaning against the hood of our car and being all, "Tell me about it, stud," a la Olivia Newton John (and if you don't know that's from Grease because you still weren't old enough to see the 20th anniversary theatrical re-release, you cannot ride this roller coaster). I even fancied a gentle breeze might tousle my hair and add some drama.
Except, Noah was over an hour late getting out. Let me tell you, folks. An hour on a small Naval base with a three year old and nothing to do. Several long walks along the
So poor Noah. After being kept late an hour, he was greeted not by a revamped and sassy Sandra D, but a shrew who'd been pulled through a hedge backwards.
Let me just add: