Someone's knockin at the door...

A dear friend of mine and I were going to Michigan for a football game on Saturday. Well, it was going to rain. Or so they said. I am not sure if it rained. Instead, we watched brilliant movies, mediocre programming and terrible but ironically somewhat funny flicks too. We shared a bottle of wine, a pizza a piece. (For the record, neither of us finished our own pizza at that sitting.) We locked ourselves away for about nine hours of cinema time, conversation and magazine glancing. It was a grand way to spend a day that was to be gloomy, grey and wet. Well, I think it may have rained, because the pizza delivery dude seemed a bit moist. I forgot to ask him, because my special bottle of wine that was delivered from Napa Valley was calling my name. Luckily I heard the knock at the door for the wine, a few weeks ago, and I heard that same knock when the pizza came. Here is to weekends where a shower is the only effort that has to be put into the mix.