happy talky talky happy talk*

Mistah packs heavy.

Some peeps pack light, some peeps pack medium, and then there's Mistah.

We went down to Mom's last weekend and Mistah didn't know what he'd wear on Sunday, so, well, he brought everything he owns.

And then he left everything he owns in Mom's closet.

I know.

But the fabulous thing about it all? Schleckie made a deal with Mom that if she met us halfway, we'd buy her luncheon on Saturday -- he needs those clothes! -- and we'd do the ol' switcheroo . . .

. . .  because apparently Da Dowd left a bag somewhere, too, and we had to deliver that, too, but what-ever . . . because luncheon.

(And don't let Mistah fool you; Mom had his stuff hanging on both sides of the back of her car.)

Luncheon!

Cauliflower! I mean, seriously. We had a three-meal cauliflower day that day. Not a lot of people can say that.

The Guilford Bistro rocks the cauliflower.

And scallops. They rocked those too.

Oh, shoot. We forgot to take photos of our entrees.

But there's the thing.

Bill and I arrived 10 minutes early. And mom pulled in the moment we did. And we did the switcheroo. And we started talking. And then we went into the Bistro. And we kept talking. And we poured wine. And we kept talking. And we ordered food. And we kept talking. And we ate our food. And we drank our wine. And we kept talking. And then we walked ourselves out to the parking lot and on kept talking as we got into our respective cars. We three had seen eachother the previous weekend. But we had so much to talk about.

We just have so much to talk about.

Always.

And we can't wait to get back to it.

Next weekend!

Because we have still so much to talk about.