Internet, I was going to write you a postcard, but I was all oh hey is that a rash, what is that, poison ivy? No, it’s got to be chiggers. They have those up here, right? OK, well, let’s get an ice cream. And then we rubbed two twigs together to fashion a rough internet connection, but it only worked when all the barnacles lined up to face the setting sun just right. I read some books and fondly remembered what it was like having a vacation without a ybab.
Please choose your own highlights from our vacation trip. We took (a boat, a Ferrari, a large winged medieval bird). We ate (mediocre lobster rolls, cupcakes, sand). Ybab became afflicted by (a rash, walking, multiple heads). I offset my (carbon, rear end size, existentialism). Our rental house was (sort of haunted, moderately haunted, hell of haunted).
OK, that last one was not really where we stayed, but surely you can hear the scraping of ghostly chains. Stephen King appeared to warn us of the future. And that photo brings me to another problem: I suggested that Mr. H get a new tripod and shoot some HDRs, and I suppose I should have thought of this years ago, because I did not see him for the rest of the trip. I think he might have caught the same ferry back as relddot (ybab no more!) and I did, as someone is leaving socks around the house. Ghostly socks.
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