Just when you feel that your life may be on track, fate, the gods, or happenstance steps in front of you and waves its fat, jiggly arms.
In the South, you don’t go grocery shopping; you go “tradin’.”
And those four-wheeled caged contraptions you push up and down the aisles to transport your goods out to the car are not shopping carts, they’re called “buggies.”
I decided to thin out my filing cabinet this weekend and came across my husband’s passport.
It was a wrench, I’m not gonna lie. Continue reading “Passed port”