I pity the majority of you, because I bet most of you didn't have the kind of morning I did. I knew it was going to be special because my dog dribbled electric orange puke through the dining room (what made it special was that he didn't do it on the carpet).
My husband I got in the car, ready to face the big moment: we were going to hit 10,000 miles on our leased VW Sportwagen. I know, it's the kind of thing you only dream about, right?
We got gas, we headed on Lake Shore Drive. 99997...99998...99999....we decided to hold hands so we could really experience this together. 99999...Steve put his hand on the gearshift because he got tired. 99999....it was stop and go traffic, so it was getting a little excruciating. 99999....Steve put his/my hand down on his leg. 99999...an accident literally happened just outside my window but I couldn't look in case I missed this amazing changing of the guard. 99999....we started to wonder if maybe there was something broken with the odometer. 99999....I started pointing my finger at the odometer and going "Pew! pew! pew!" to see if maybe an imaginary bullet would make it turn over. I got tired of that. 99999....and finally! FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 10,000 miles! Yes!!! We cheered and Steve kissed my hand and then we continued in stop and go traffic. He marveled that we were two thousand or so miles under what our lease dictated and maybe we should take a little road trip this weekend, if we have time, maybe.
Then we reached my office and I got out of the car and got my dry cleaning.
Part of me feels I should just go back home and go to bed because the day is only going to be a letdown from here on out.
Also I wrote about So You Think You Can Dance last night.