While I could have arrived home from my delightful weekend with Count Mockula before the clock rolled to Tuesday, I decided that I'd save money and take a shared van service from the airport instead of a cab. Sure, it was about 1/3 of the price of a cab, but it also took three times as long to get back. First we drove all over JFK to pick other people up, then we drove all over Manhattan to drop them off. Compounding my misery, the van did not crank the heat up, my feet got numb, and then the driver misunderstood my directions ("Please make a left and pull over to the far corner") and instead drove a block out of the way. At least I had the chance to hear a hilarious "sexy" ad on the radio on how KY heating lubricant will make your Valentine's night extra good multiple times while shivering in the van. Hell, maybe I could've used some to help my feet.
Anyway, before I left for my weekend trip, I carefully checked my punim for any signs of chin hairs. There wasn't even a bud. By the time I got home tonight, I could have been mistaken for a Hasidic guy. How the hell do those suckers grow so fucking fast? And how can I harness my chin hair growing power to help men who worry about receding hairlines? If I could unlock the secret, I'd be a rich woman who could afford a cab home from the airport.
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Welcome back! I have been lonely.
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