Learning to Crochet Over Chocolate Chip Pancakes.

We were undoubtedly the most attractive ones at IHOP. Especially moreso than the scene kid in the corner who never got off his cell phone and had the same haircut Aimee had in seventh grade. You know which one I'm talking about.

Nathan and I rang in his twentieth year with Seinfeld and teddy grams. But not until we discovered that my car stops going at 393 miles.

I have this horrible concept planted in my head. When I was a child, my father had an old Ford truck from 1981. The needle on the gas gauge was never over the E. Never. Either it didn't work, or he was one of those people that would just put a little a gas in every day, never to fork out more than five dollars at any given trip to the seven-eleven. Either way, I never really was able to fully grasp the idea that past the E would actually cause your vehicle to cease the rolling of its tires and the turning of its engine.

Until tonight. [Live and learn, but watch for speeding cars as you awkwardly fumble with the red can. I would hate for you to die the day before your birthday.]

At the beginning of the summer, Aimee planted sunflowers. Now, the shortest of the bunch is eight feet tall and the head weighs more than a small dog. The remains of one that was too heavy for its own good lays on our deck, the seeds half harvested and the carcass rotting away in the ninety eight degree weather. To make a long story short, I feel that sunflowers are not only offensively large and gruesome, but we also have plenty of sunflower seeds if anyone wants any.

It's getting close, and it's starting to feel real. So real that today, I bought silverware.

And Friday starts my last Friday [and so forth].