Today, James and Ursula learned a valuable lesson. They learned why you never, ever, ever, ever drive home 600 miles on the Sunday after a major holiday.

The trip normally takes us eight hours and some change. We limped in after thirteen and a half hours, much of which was spent in a parking lot masquerading as the interstate.

Also, somebody whanged our car in the Taco Bell parking lot in Summersville, West Virginia. Someone orange. Driving what was either an SUV or a tank. (I’m guessing this based on the enormous size and vivid color of the dent, not because I saw it happen–we came out of Taco Bell and went “Dude!”) However, while my inclination was to be deeply uncharitable to anyone in Summersville because of this, both the gas station owner who let me use his phone and the very kind police officer who came and took my report were very nice, and redeemed Summersville to a large extent. The car is fine, it’s cosmetic only, but my deductible weeps.

But we live! Athena is fine–fat, dumb, happy, in urgent need of an anal gland expressing, but that’s easily dealt with.

And now I have fifty bizillion e-mails to read through…

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