Before I clear up this fuzzy introduction, let's discuss these socks for a moment. These socks are amazing. They come up over the knee in glorious blue and grey stripes and invoke a feeling that goes something like, "You can't see it, but my socks put your socks to shame." I can't help feeling like a witch when I put them on, especially when they're combined with my calf-high leather boots. This is a good thing.
To shed some light on the previous paragraphs, I was rousted from my bed this morning for a motorcycle ride to and breakfast in Florence (the one in Arizona, not Italy). I didn't actually ride on a motorcycle today. I was on the back of the trike. Boy howdee, that thing almost makes my uncle's La-Z-Boy/Electra Glide look like a wooden stool. It is spacious! Of course, the back end is part of a Volkswagon Bug, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that it's a mite roomier than a motorcycle.
Brunch was awesome. To sum up: outdoor patio, sparrows, fundidos.
A parting word of advice: If you ever find yourself following a motorcycle down the road, watch what they do when they pass a bike going the other way.
This post is affectionately dedicated to the cricket silently wandering around my room. May it find what it's looking for.
Listening to: "Provo, UT, Gurls" by BYU Divine Comedy
Reading: Uglies by Scott Westerfeld