Laura and I are dangerous to one another's consumeristic tendencies -- we find it impossible to purchase anything but food when we're together, and all we want to do is talk. Nevertheless, we managed to identify some collegiate implements and acquire them. We also made effective use of Laura's delirium and my near-death state of exhaustion to uninhibitedly practice Spanish throughout the day. My tongue is so happy!
After what felt like years, Papa picked us up from Tysons and we fell onto the floor for a concentrated nap before the evening's exploit. Laura and I joined with the god of rhythm for an exciting night of Zumba. I haven't ever seen Laura as happy as when she's in this Spanish-infused exercise class, and I was amused by the fact that even Kenneson was having trouble wrapping his feet around some of the routines. As a result of all this, I spent most of the class laughing maniacally as I danced, before I could laugh or dance no more and we piled in the car, ready to take on anything -- even Chipotle.
We caught the restaurant just as it was closing, and spent our meal harmonizing to Ingrid Michaelson and assorted Swedish songs. The car ride home was probably my loudest ever, as I literally shrieked to random and old Kelly Clarkson music as Kenneson and Laura begged me to stop. Phew.
At home, we cut a cake to celebrate the happy and healthy life of my Dadaji -- a poet, a singer, a father.
Laura now reads A Brief History of Time,which was supposed to be my gap year reading, as I scramble to scrawl this post. It's funny how things come full circle.