Thursday

Robert took my car in because of a noise it's been making for several weeks. Somehow, I bent a heat shield near one of my rear tires. He's nicely alluded to the possibility of me driving over a curb; I think I hit a rut on a friend's dirt road. Priuses are only meant for pavement, of that I am sure.

When the car was fixed, he brought it to me at work, and we went out to lunch. Even after three years, he's never had the pleasure of diner dining in Stickville, and he wasn't particularly interested in changing that. But I convinced him to give The Hub a try.



It's the kind of place where you see people you know, and we did. We saw a judge, a couple who frequents the library, and our tax guy. It wasn't even lunchtime yet. It's the only place I can ever imagine ordering a tuna on rye, and Robert ordered a hamburger. Now he's glad he went; he said it was the best burger he's EVER had. And I believe him. Stickville is great for many things, kind of like California. It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.