Whew.

Kids, I'm wore slap out. After getting up at 4am and punchlisting and meeting all day and having to come home to write a letter for Wheatlands' new CEO, I'm frazzled. My legs don't ache like last time, thank heavens, but my back is feeling a little tweaked. In other news, though, the hospital is looking really beautiful. I wish I could show you photos of it, but I fear someone out there in cyberspace might surf upon it and recognize it and get me in a world of trouble.

Tomorrow night is Poker Night, in which Mile High Guy will take all of Sarge's and Elliot's and Jimmy Ray's money. While the testosterone is humming, I'll be out and about having my own girly evening alone. Detail of the Week will be posted on Saturday.

Word.