The domain has to be transferred so that will happen a bit later.
As I have told you guys repeatedly, my tech skills suck big wads of carpet.
Now, I have to tell you the story of my trip to Nashville. I went up, we worked on the new blog (or I watched rather very intrigued by it all) and after a bit of visiting for a few minutes, we headed back to Hoots.
The Pilot station at Exit 143 hates me. Last year, you might remember my Elvis Impersonators wreck at this infamous truck stop. I think I’m jinxed at this place.
And, Sunday night, there was proof of this. PROOF.
I’ve seen a lot of I-40 lately, and as human being are wont to do, I needed to use, as my mother would call it, the little girls’ room. Every other place was closed so we hauled into the dreaded Pilot due to the only other option being the Adult Book Store at Bucksnort, which to give it credit, was packed with truckers.
So I go hauling in to do my bidness, which I did, and went to the sink to wash my hands.
Then the horror happened.
A young mother comes hauling at lightening speed into the bathroom with a young boy. The water is going into the sink and my hands are all soaped up. Apparently the little boy wasn’t feeling well because he barfed right into the basin which of course, splashed on me. Now, I’m a support system with vomit. You puke, I puke.
I didn’t but it was all over me. The mother was apologizing and grabbing towels for me and her son who was still a bit green.
I cleaned up as best I could and finally got back to the car where Squirrel Queen asked “Are you sick?”
I told her the story. No, I wasn’t sick but apparently Junior was.
And the shirt came OFF.
So if you saw a chubby woman in a red bra riding down I-40 Sunday night. Umm, that would have been me.
Actually, it was kind of free-spirited and refreshing.