This morning, our kitchen clock was inexplicably 40 minutes slow. Which meant that I got into the car at (what I thought was) 9:10, didn't pay attention to the car clock, made the (what I thought was) 15-minute drive to work, and turned onto the street that my office is on just as the deejay made a comment about it being "just past the 10 o'clock hour." It was absolutely terrifying... I had no idea where the past 45 minutes had gone. Fortunately, I knew exactly what to do in a situation like this: find the oldest inhabitant of my village, Peter Vanderdonk, and ask him to identify me even though nobody recognized me because I looked so much older than I did when I left home.
Once we got that out of the way, it was back to work as usual.
I'll conclude with some visuals from the crawfish boil that Bill & Quincy hosted on Saturday:
Standard crawfish boil procedure entailed dumping all the food (crawfish, corn on the cob, hush puppies - small balls of deep-fried cornmeal deliciousness, for those of you unlucky enough to never have sampled one - and rolls) onto the newspaper-covered tables and having at it. Good times were had by all. At last, when there were no more crustaceans to be had, we regrouped for some dominoes...
And the moral of this weekend is: after you've been eating crawfish that were boiled in about a pound of cayenne pepper, make SURE you wash your hands BEFORE you go to the bathroom. I witnessed the 15 minutes of anguish suffered by the gentleman who did not heed this rule. It wasn't pretty, my friends.