By Laura Grimes
“Cheese! Where’s the cheese?”
The Pantsless Brother and I say this nearly every time we scurry through the mazes of the Underground trying to find the right train. We feel just like rats.
It’s time to say goodbye to all the fun we’ve been having. It doesn’t look like the ash cloud is going to favor us with another return to cancel our flights again. I miss Mr. Scatter and the Large Smelly Boys anyway, and JoJo is looking forward to seeing his buddies in the hood.
As I type, The PB and I are sharing one last beer together — the Hobgoblin. Only one beer tonight, not four. And as he put it, “None of that foreplay stuff with the lousy beers. We’re going straight for the (insert sexy word that sounds like origami, but it’s not).”