Withalacoochee

I nearly did a U-turn, just for YOU, to snap a picture of my new, favorite river:

The Mighty Withalacoochee.

Ok, so I added the “mighty” part. But if it’s got coochee, you know it’s mighty.

Needless to say, I did not sink my hoochie in the Withalacoochee, as I was too busy trying to meet up with the darling Shash of Diary of a Crazed Mommy on the very last day of my vacation.

Driving down an open stretch of road, sun beating down on your arm, no kids are in the back seat bickering. No husband is next to you navigating.

It’s just you, Pearl Jam’s Evenflow, and 300 horse power, 1994 Corvette.

How fast do you go? Be honest. Not a cop in sight. Not another car or truck in sight. No houses. No schools. Just trees and Withalacoochee Forest land.

I’m not telling you how fast I went. Because my husband freaked out when I told him. And I nearly snapped a photo of the spedometer. But then I figured I’d end up on Fark after the arrest, what with the digital evidence and all.

All I can say, is that I may or may not have hit some triple digits. Easy. But I’m not saying.

And it was well worth it to eat some fantastic BBQ with the lovely Shash. We gabbed like old friends over sweetened tea and some good southern pulled pork. She’s fabulous. And sassy.

And downright adorable. While my tits and waist look really odd. I swear that’s not how they really look.

Wow. “Coochee” and “pork” in the same post and this isn’t about me shaving or sex or anything.

And memories of bbq, manatees, family, and flirty t-shirts at Target had better pull me through as I trudge through new security measures in the wee hours of Tuesday. I’ll be toting two small children, two carry ons (without juice boxes, the joy) and a stroller that I am sure no one will sit in.

We’ll fly over five hours in a tube through the sky and across the country. Then, if there are no emergency landings due to my unruley children and their hagard mother, we’ll land and make Daddy carry carseats, suitcases, strollers, diaper bags, and a stray stuffed doll or two across the hell that is the LAX parking garage.

Home.