We went to Dallas for the weekend, and apparently I was having so much fun that I took exactly one photo:
There is my cute husband, enjoying the view from our eighth floor hotel room. Which was super unsafe, incidentally. The window started about 8 inches from the floor and opened all the way, with no lock or screen. But it allowed us to spy and make disparaging comments about the parents of the child beauty pageant taking place at the hotel. It was a scary Toddlers in Tiaras situation in the lobby every day, complete with stardom crazed parents dragging tiny girls in shiny, fluffy dresses behind them.
We took our friends Jake and Christy with us, which was fun. We checked out the spot where JFK was killed, looked around downtown, decided never to return to Deep Ellum, picked up baby stuff at Ikea (Oklahoma is deprived of cheap, modern Swedish design), had a great dinner out in Preston, and hit the farmer’s market. Where, oh, I lied; I did take one more photo:
What a neat looking old guy. Don’t you want him for your grandpa?
All things considered, it was a great weekend getaway, even if I was subjected to Karen the whole time, a.k.a Jake’s GPS. That woman.