About last night, I am really sorry. I was walking and talking on my cell phone, which should be just as illegal as driving and talking on your cell phone as I walked through a giant pit of mud and was almost attacked by two dogs because I wasn't paying attention, but that is not my point. I was walking and talking when, in the heat of the conversation, I yelled something that rhymes with "mucking bass pole." I stopped, feeling as though someone might have heard me and looked up to see who was around. There I was, standing on a street actually named Cross Street with a Baptist church on my left and a Lutheran church on my right, the irony of which is not lost on me. As you are well aware, my father grew up as a Baptist and my mother as a Lutheran. It was as if everyone who had given me life heard my sailor-like swearing and was standing there, arms crossed, lips pursed and heads shaking with disappointment. Not anger, just disappointment. "Can't you come up with any better words to use? Words that won't make your grandmother cry, nor offend any school children who might overhear you?" Apparently not. I know I have a "cursing" problem. In fact last weekend while visiting friends in Dallas, we decided to play a little game called "let's see how long Kate can go without swearing!" I barely made it to the five minute mark, three separate times, before dropping an F-bomb. And yes, there were children at the next table. Again, really sorry about that one too. Thanks for not striking me down last night on Cross Street, the second (actually more like third, fourth or really, thirty-seventh) chance is greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
Kate
P.S. Nice job with the weather change, the steam rising off the water of the Comal looked totally creepy and cool!
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