Dreadford

This weekend, Regina went to Las Vegas for a "bachelorette party." I put that in quotes because I think she used the girls weekend as a guise to play in the World Series of Poker, under the pseudonym "Brasilian Ice." Regardless, she didn't have to hitchhike home or get a weird Sammy Davis Jr. tribute tattoo, so I think her weekend was a good one.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Dylan and Daddy were partying hard. Okay, I was working, but Aunty Ju-Ju got two new kitties, and Dylan went bonkers over them. She learned that the pain threshold of cats is pretty high and they don't seem to mind being carried by their necks. She also learned that, in contrast, her pain threshold is much lower and that cats sometimes do mind being carried by their necks.

On Sunday, Dylan and I loaded the truck and went to Medford to pick up Mommy from the airport. I figured Dylan would take her afternoon nap on the drive up and be cute and refreshed when Regina flew in. Stupid Daddy. Of course she didn't nap.

Our first stop was Big R -- ranching supply headquarters. Dylan sat in the cart and waved at all the employees, who all waved back. She earned "good baby" points, so when I released her from the shopping cart -- just to stretch her legs -- no one got too upset when she ran around the women's clothing section (camo, John Deere), ripping off every tag she could get her hands on.

I learned my lesson and kept her in the cart at Costco. I did forget to bring in the ever-so important snack bag, and panicked until I remembered, duh, this is Costco: food sample capitol of the world. We dutifully lined in behind the old and crazy who think Costco is a Home Town Buffet and I filled Dylan up on little bites of taquitos, push-ups, salmon patties, and dried apples. A pretty balanced meal. She topped it off by eating the grocery list. I know this because a nervous looking woman approached me and said, "She has paper in her mouth." I smiled. She eats a lot of paper.

We had a little time to kill, so into Barnes and Noble we ventured. There are no shopping carts in bookstores, and that should have been enough to send us packing. Instead, I let Dylan run free. She bolted like a feral cat and I could only keep track of her by the trail of books and stuffed "Harry Potter" dolls she left in her wake. I put everything back in its rightful place (it's the OCD in me) while Dylan laughed and bothered the creepy readers in the magazine section. I finally caught up to her in the "quiet" section and scooped her up. She wailed and screamed and fought and you'd of thought I'd just ripped a huge fart at a funeral from the looks I got. Look, dorks, you're reading on a smelly couch in a chain bookstore, not a library. Go read at home.

We left before we were asked to leave and spent the last half hour parked at a bank, making sure the bookstore police didn't follow us. I was out of ideas, and Dylan was out of patience, so we both sat in silence, praying for a tailwind to push Regina's flight ahead of schedule.

When Dylan saw Mommy step out of Medford International, she was ecstatic. Sure, her Daddy time was cool, but, man, sometimes he's clueless.