The Spousal Equivalent and I hopped a jet Friday morning and headed west, to the city of hopes and dreams, the city that never sleeps, the city that takes all your money and leaves you scrounging around in your pockets at the airport for just one more quarter to throw in a slot machine as the agent announces final boarding for your flight home.
That's right, we went to Vegas, baby! It's the only city I know of where you can hang out in Venice, Rome, Paris and New York all in a single afternoon. That's Paris, Vegas-style, on the left – trust me, you won't find desert palms outside the real Tour d'Eiffel.
I managed to add more money than I'd planned to the local economy, but I came home with something much more special than mere cashmoneybucks. May I introduce ...
Mr. Shrinking Knitter!
Yep, the Spousal Equivalent is now the Spouse.
He propsed on Mother's Day, completely out of the blue. We've lived together for more than nine years, and the marriage conversation has come up now and then, but we both were of the opinion that if it ain't broke, you don't fix it.
Not that anything was broken when he brought up the M-word this time. He just thought it was time, and hoped I did, too.
All together now: Awwwww.
So anyway. My internal clock is completely messed up, even though I tried to stay on Middle-of-Nowhere time while I was out there. Details? Later. It's the middle of the night and I should go get some sleep.