no particular place to go…

I was supposed to be doing this this morning ~

Instead I was doing this ~

It’s almost 60 Fahren here today. It’s overcast, but, but, but… 60 Fahren, people.

In the Great White North.

In November.

I wasn’t going to miss the maiden voyage of the new wheels. What? Let Mr. G, honey have all the fun? I don’t think so.

So I donned some hip-hugging black jeans, my ox rust Converse All Stars and some super-sized sunglasses, and hit the open road.

This sparkly, dark blue princess has some things on her that our-little-Echo-that-could didn’t have. For one — heated seats.

I know where I’m sleeping this winter.

For another — purple dashboard lights.

I’m surreptitiously checking the hatchback for anyone who looks like they just stepped out of an episode of Grimm.

The baby has stuff on her, and she comes with an owner’s manual that is one and a quarter inches thick to prove it. If you’re sitting on it. More, if you’re not.

I know. I measured.

Fortunately, half of that is in French.

I’m all about Where can I go next? today.

This state of being will end with the first snowflake.

Until this car pulls back into the driveway, it’s back to this ~

But if Mr. G, honey ever returns, I’m gone, baby, gone!

Just me and Chuck Berry.