Bugs, Hobos and Cake

On Friday I went to the County Health Department to get all my Africa shots. I met with an awesome nurse who explained to me all the different ways I could die. There's a lot of nasty diseases riding around on the backs of African mosquitoes. As it turned out, I was too broke and perhaps too much of a pansy to get all my shots/pills in one day. Thankfully I have a little time, so I can take advantage of the pay/pain-as-you-go method. Oddly enough, I'm even more excited to go now. And nobody hates bugs more than me. Many a friend has come to my door, only to find me paralyzed in a spider staredown. I'm always afraid of losing sight of them, so I watch and wait until a bugslayer comes to rescue me. Whenever I think that I'll just stay an old maid, a bug comes along to remind me I can't. I once had an arrangement with a friend of mine. I'd marry him for his bugslaying abilities and he'd marry me for my dishwashing skills. Maybe I should just learn to like cats.

My sister works in the basement of the County Health Department, so she was kind enough to wait for me to get needled and warned and then walked home with me. We met later at my Grandma's house for my dream meal of hobo dinners and Williamsburg Orange Cake. It was a late birthday celebration since my parents couldn't come to town till Friday. Hobo dinners are hamburger patties with carrots, celery and potatoes sealed in tinfoil and grilled. It's my traditional birthday dinner, courtesy of dad. It's a good thing my birthday is in the summer. I would feel guilty watching him barbecue in the snow. Williamsburg Orange Cake is a recent birthday tradition in our family. It always comes courtesy of #1 Sister--except on her birthday when #2 Sister takes over.


I cut the cake.

Guess whose piece that is??
















Dad, Grandma and #2 Sister's boyfriend are all good storytellers, so it made for some good table talk. I love hearing about the mischief they got into when they were little. Come to think of it, they were all little red-headed kids. There's nothing cuter than the mental image of a little redheaded mischief-maker.

I love my family.