Alice: But I don't want to go among mad people.

The Cat: Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.
Alice: How do you know I'm mad?
The Cat: You must be. Or you wouldn't have come here.

Ante Meridiem:  Thelma and "Louise, are you sure we want to do this?"
I have an unpleasant task to accomplish with a friend that is a lot more Jerry Springer than I normally find tolerable.  My inner reductionist suggests I see this as a large donation to a charitable foundation aimed at the less fortunate. But to convince myself of that, I'd need more alcohol than my liver or the legal restrictions on public insobriety allow, a pair of kicky pigalle spiked ballerina flats and a Carolina Herrera ( girl crush, people.. large ) day dress.

Instead, I'm going to wear cargo pants, a wife beater and track shoes, because it's a more pragmatic ensemble for reposesing a car from, oh, let's call him {(Peter Pan) - (endearing bits)}with your husband's ex-wife, aka, my wife-in-law, aka, my closest female friend, since my sister has the nerve to live on the Gulf Coast knowing full well, I live on the Left Coast.  ( to be fair, I was the one that moved. )
y.e. haw.

p.s. Peter Pan is the poster child for birth control or at the very least, insisting your adult children BE adults.
       Love him.  Just sayin'

Post Meridiem: Thelma and Louise go to brunch
Note to self:   Brevity is the soul of wit.  caffeinated + blogging = verbose

I like to think it was the bottle of Moet we had during brunch, but the reposession went well.  Peter Pan was washing the car he wasn't paying for when we drove up, and knowing my feelings on the matter, Louise, asked me to drop her off. I didn't even get to rough anyone up with my maglight.  Dang.  

The evening finished thus: