Uh...okay.

I'm on vacation in St. George. It's awesome here. We've been swimming every day and are all tan and rashy from the chlorine (at least I hope it's from the chlorine). We blew off the national parks in favor of just hanging 'round. It's hard with a 4 month old in tow. The 4 month old has bad diarrhea by the way, which has been a real style-cramper for us. There are outlets here and believe me I have been trying to shop, but that diarrhea thwarts me at every turn.

Like today. We were at the gap outlet and I had a pile of stuff to try on and Ruby was all "mom, is there a change box for you?" and what she meant was a dressing room. So I said "to the change box!" and while we were in the "change box" old Wellsy decided to have a dry-heave-inducing, soul-paralyzing, sense of smell-damaging blowout. So I had to cut everything short.

So after the blowout, we were all hungry. Hard to believe anyone could eat after experiencing what we had just been through, but I guess dry heaving can sometimes increase your appetite. So we went to Five Guys for me with a promise to go to McDonald's for the kids (there's no accounting for taste). There I was, ordering my usual, which if you want to know is a little bacon burger with lettuce and tomato, a large order of fries, and a large diet coke. I call it the "cancer and cellulite special" of course. So the woman taking my order says "you know a large fry can feed like three or four people." and I says to her, "yeah?" and then she was like "well I just wouldn't want you to waste all that money...." "uh....okay. I'll have a regular," I said, my eyes downcast, my already fragile ego shattering to pieces. What I want to know is, was this lady a. Trying to imply that I am too fat to eat a large fry, b. trying to imply that I may not be able to finish a large fry myself? And since when has Five Guys, who always accepts me for who I am, no matter what I like to put on (or keep off, in my case) my burgers started splitting hairs over the size of my fries!?

That's when I knew it was time to go home. I need to get back to Rexburg, where things make sense; where nobody ever questions the size of the fries I buy and where there aren't any good clothing stores with change boxes for me to change a dirty diaper in. I was flying this week . . . a little too close to the sun.

Ps this was typed on my iPad so please disregard any weird spacing or spelling etc.