Argentine

My brother and I worked out together at lunch today. He's kind enough to let me prattle on about crap like why I love my new running shirt for ten minutes straight. (At least until he picks up our pace enough to ensure I can't get enough oxygen to breathe anymore, much less speak. I'm sure that's not at all strategic on his part though.)

Anyway, he still manages to keep our conversations interesting. (Despite my best efforts to bore him to death.)

***

Me: So did I tell you what I love about my new workout shirt?

JB: No, I don't believe you did. Unless it's that it's super light-weight and breathable. You might have mentioned that. Four or five times.

Me: That too, but it also has this technology where they weave silver or something into the fibers.

JB: Silver? Does that give it a higher SPF rating?

Me: No, it helps it repel...

JB: Vampires!

Me: What? No, odor. It helps repel stinky sweat odor.

JB: And vampires.

Me: Yes, it repels odor and vampires. Which is a valid concern when you're working out in Southern California. Outside. In the middle of the afternoon.

***

Wait, isn't it werewolves who are allergic to silver anyway? Crap. We'd better get that figured out before I walk into a nest of vampires thinking my (amazingly light-weight and breathable) running shirt is going to protect me.

Patralineal

Today I’m wishing happy birthday to the woman who gave me a love of reading, mad crochet skills, and a fondness for pie. Plus, she taught me how to milk a cow, deal with evil chickens (that's all of them, in case you were wondering), and make just about anything out of fabric scraps. And her molasses cookies rock.

You wish your grandmother was as awesome.