Brace yourself, my friends, for a tale so epical and wondrous that it needed a title that long. For this is not just a tale of a weekend. No, it is far more. This is the story of darkened canyons, cliffs, and strawberry blonds.
Friday morning there was a magical time where I was planning on going home. I was going to bake my godfather brownies for Valentines Day and pretend that holiday wasn't going on--it just tends to depress me when I think about it too much. But I got a feeling, you know one of those feelings, that it wouldn't be safe for me to go home. So, with a sigh, I let my parents and my ride know I was going to be staying back for the long weekend. I was expecting an affair of dullness and loneliness.
I was wrong.
Beth called me and told me she had been called into work, which I had expected. But then she told me that her parents had invited me to stay down in St. George with them for the weekend. If I went, I would get to enjoy the benefits of a big screen tv, a queen sized bed, and many other glorious things that words could describe in more sentences than I am willing to dedicate. There was one little problem: I would have to drive myself. The thought of driving Gandalf the hour it would take aaaaaall the way to St. George terrified me. I was just getting to the point of passable with the truck on the backroads: going on the freeway would be suicide. Around five o'clock I decided to take Gandalf for a spin to see how good a job I was doing that day at driving him. Suffice it to say, before long I was headed south with my laptop and dufflebag as my only company on the drive.
~To Be Continued~
No comments:
Post a Comment