Back in Coldwater

I can’t decide whether to thank Grant for posting in my absence or slap him for being a smartass. I think I would die of embarrassment if I found out that Joey really did tell Ryne Sandberg that I said he had a cute butt. I wouldn’t put it past him. It’s not as if Joey has a really solid grasp of the difference between Things You Should Tell People and Things You Should Not Tell People.

Oh, well. I’ll just console myself with the knowledge that Sandberg has, like, umpteen kids, and I’m sure at least one of them has said something outrageous to embarrass him in public at some point.

Joey was so funny after he got Sandberg’s autograph. He carried that baseball everywhere he went: to the aquarium, to the botanical garden, to all the shops in Old Town, up the Sandia Peak tram … you name it. He showed it to the waitress at the Route 66 Diner, who was too young to have the foggiest clue who Ryne Sandberg is. He showed it to the tour guide at the rattlesnake museum. He showed it to the animals at the zoo. (Some of them actually looked sort of interested, which was hilarious.)

Grant did a good job with the Tumbleweed while I was gone. I don’t know how he managed to put up with kids all day and then deal with customers and turn over rooms and do laundry all evening, but he really did a great job.

When we got home, Joey presented Grant with a rattlesnake fang he’d bought at the museum gift shop. He wanted to buy one for Sandberg, too, but I managed to convince him that there is an old baseball superstition that states that if a baseball manager touches any part of a rattlesnake before a game, his team will lose. (Yes, I realize I will probably go to hell for lying, but you have to understand that when Joey gets it in his head to give somebody a gift, there is no talking him out of it unless you can persuade him that the gift in question will actually harm its intended recipient.)

— Sierra

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