Yeah, you know you're jealous of my awesome bike.

I actually managed to get Sable a bottle of Royal Coat Express on Friday morning. (There was an article about it in the paper last week -- that's how I heard about it -- and ever since then it's been in crazy-demand.) I've been giving him a teaspoon every morning, and I really think he's scratching less. Grandma said she thought so too, when I took him over to her house.

Man, do I love my bike. Especially now that I've gotten it tricked out with a basket and bell. I went for a long ride today and realized that there's a real wealth of places I can reach on that bike: mom's house, grandma's house, work, the bank, the post office, the library, the lake, downtown. The only downside is the only fastfood place I can reach on it is Wendy's. But they do serve buffalo chicken there now, so I can't complain. If I should die in a bike accident, I want my epitaph to be, "She died as she had lived -- a cyclist." This is a real epitaph on a real person's grave.

Actually, in seriousness, I'd want my epitaph to be either Elle vole avec son miroir magique or She's flying with her magic mirror. (It's a line from Ponette. Ponette's father tells her that her mother is dead and asks, "Do you know what that means?" Ponette replies, "Yes, she's flying with her magic mirror.") Actually, I'm not sure I want to be buried at all.

Watching The Sound of Music with Sara last night...
Me: They make the landler look easy, but it's actually a very complicated dance.
Sara: It's not that complicated.
Me: Well, you could never do it.
Sara: That's because I always had a shitty partner. Some crazy, sickly, skinny asthmatic girl. I wonder whatever happened to that girl. I think she finally wheezed herself to death one winter.
Me: [laughing hysterically]