Jesus is coming – duck!

Earlier this week we watched Johnny English, and one of the extra features is "Observation Test" that shows you a short clip of the movie and then gives you multiple choice answers, and if you get them right, you automatically earn your license to kill or something equally cool. My title is one of the choices given to the question of what some character had tramp-stamped on him (the real answer was "Jesus is coming – look busy"), and I distinctly remember finding the "duck!" answer quite hilarious. But I suppose that could have been the gin and tonic talking laughing.

Saturday marked the 2nd annual "Screwed out of green beer on St. Patrick's day." When, oh when will it ever become a reality? I just know that green Coor's light tastes infinitely better than boring old beer-colored Coor's light – why must I be deprived of this succulent beverage? Haha.

This week I did something I hadn't done in a very long time – spent the entire evening from when I got home at 6:30 until 11 reading for pleasure. I finally finished a novel (another thing I hadn't done in a while). I know it was good because it made me cry (not the only criterion for a novel being good, but if it's there, it usually is). And it was one of my favorite kinds of cries – the one that you're doing while thinking both, "This is so sad and also so beautiful."

The story of my first memory of crying over a book: In fifth grade we read Where the Red Fern Grows. During one of our in-class reading days, I unfortunately reached the last section. It was so sad! I cried and cried. Trying to shield my face from the rest of the class by putting my head down and the book up only resulted in getting my desk all wet. How humiliating! Of course fellow fifth graders had absolutely no qualms about pointing out my crying and laughing about it. Next time I'll have to relay the story of what stands out as my worst public cry experience.