It's Me, Sara Louise

My, my, my, how do you write a post as big as Texas?

A little bit at a time, that’s how (and with absolutely no idea where to begin, hence the reason there’s been nary a peep from me for a week). So since I’ve been having a hard time getting this going, I’m just going to go ahead and jump in all bumbly like.

Y’all with me? Good.

Let’s talk Texas.

Or more precisely, me in Texas.

Apparently as soon as I step back on Texas soil I lose all my mojo. Any sense of coolness disappears and I kind of bungle about bumping into things and tripping a lot (my nickname in Texas is Handy… short for handicapped… I’m not joking. For the record, I’m pretty sure that if The Husband had met me in Texas, we never would have been. I’m that dorky there. For reals). And the way my lack of mojo-ness decided to manifest itself on my very first day back in Texas was through a random and strange swelling of my lips a few hours after I arrived (it may have been an allergic reaction to the mohair couch I was napping on, but we’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change the fact that I looked like I had over done the lip injections… which kind of made me blend in a bit in Dallas, so kind of a bonus).

Yeah, so me and my big ol’ lips went to dinner at The Porch in Dallas with The Husband and my dear friend, The Puma (last seen here). And you know what? Having big ol’ swollen lips can really take it out of you, I was so exhausted, I couldn’t even drink my martini (in fairness, it was like 5am French time, and I don’t usually drink martinis at 5am). And while I was trying to keep my heavy head and big ol’ lips upright, The Husband was tackling his over sized French dip sandwich and trying to figure out why it was ‘French’. I told him to just go with it and enjoy the deliciousness. He did.

The next morning I woke up with normal sized lips in time for the drive on down to San Antonio. It felt good to be back on a large open road seeing Cracker Barrels and firework stands on the side, and once I cruised by Austin on I-35, I knew that I was home.

And as lame as it might be, that concludes the very first part of my Texas tale.