5:00 Fridays

I am beckoning summer. In fact, I am perched upon my knees, hands clasped, face turned upward looking solemn, and pleading for summer's grace. Summer's sun seems to be a newbie in the witness protection program, her blue skies and warm breeze taken hostage by the rains and lords of thunder. And so here I kneel, summoning summer the best way I know how...

With a toast! Here's to summer, its warmth, light, smells of freshly cut grass and seared tenderloin on the grill, sounds of glasses clinking, children squealing, sprinklers spraying. Here's to summer's sundresses, red nail polish pedicures, flip flops, lazy days, endless adventures, road trips, Jimmy Buffett tunes, hammock swinging, barefoot romping, sweet tea, lemonade, smores, picnic baskets, hand cranked ice cream.

Here's to fireflies.

Now fill a tall glass with ice. Fill halfway with Firely Sweet Tea vodka. Finish off with lemonade (homemade if you're feeling ambitious, which is what I'm certain Jennifer would do). Garnish with a couple raspberries and a sprig of mint. Aw, go ahead and just fix yourself a pitcher. Then phone a friend to help you wile away the afternoon...evening...night...weekend.

Krispy Kreme Coma: Wordless Wednesday

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Blowing Over Differences

The difference between men and women is palpable on oh so many levels. To say we are wired differently is a gross understatement (emphasis on gross much of the time). Case in point:

When I hear the term "blow out," I think hair, natch.

When Mac Daddy hears "blow out," he thinks the score of the Carolina/Oklahoma game at half time. Then his mind wanders, he gets a glazed over look, and a wanton smile creeps across his face. His male mind replays the scene and gets stuck on the word "blow."

Differences indeed.