Bette, getting her nap on.
On Thursday, the dog, my bike and I took a road trip to Long Beach for a wedding. Ordinarily, Miss Bette will stare at me, for the entire trip. This time, she was pooped. Must be her advanced age (11, that's 77 in people years). This was the rare nap she managed to pull off (and let's not discuss how I managed to snap a photo with my camera phone while driving down I-5, m-kay? I know. HANDS FREE!!!), before the freeway got really bumpy. Those semi trucks sure do mess up the pavement. Filling-jarring bumps. Bette voiced her disapproval with many well-timed, LOUD snorts. Sorry, nothing I can do.
Took longer than I wanted (longer than the dog wanted, for sure) to get there, and the stupid Google maps failed by telling me to take I-5 all the way to 710. I should have taken the time to look myself and I swore I'd have been better off with 5 to 405 to 710.
Made it, safely. Checked into room, and went to dinner with the very-soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Silverman for a well-deserved dinner, and MARGARITA!!!