Luckily the old orbs were still sending signals to the brain when she and her people seated themselves because I discerned immediately a difference from the locals that keep Brookside Bar & Grill's
portapotty economy humming along. For one thing, she did not jingle when she walked. It was nuances, my friends. I know what you're going to say -- Aren't those beads representing the molecular structure of MSP from Harley Davidson's spring 2011 collection? Oh my gosh, don't embarrass yourself. No.
She was so darn chic, I felt compelled to get up in her business. Come to find out, she raised her children in Marine and then moved to Minneapolis where people are less likely to make hemp washcloths and have DIY plumbing. Having just spent a happy 4th of July on the St. Croix rescuing intoxicated kayakers, she and her people popped into Marine for old time's sake and a bit of commemorative artery busting ala Brookside. I think, I know, what did it for me was the shirtdress, gathered at the bottom and worn as a shirt not a dress, but the whole scenario here -- a full day with family, in which firearms were not (yet) deployed, sun, wind, water, acts of bravery -- and her hair looks fab, accessories are still accessorizing, sassy bikini is worn on the inside instead of the outside, white clothing without ketchup or bird poo on it, a long sleek sophisticated silhouette that speaks more of Mykonos than Marine ... How does this happen? Just another glad mystery I contemplate as I scrape the bird poo off the back of my jorts.