The young guy walking in front of me over the Franklin Street bridge said to his buddy. The only thing he had in his hand was a box of Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tarts.
No briefcase, no bag, nothing but the blue-boxed-8-pack.
Yum...what a great way to start off this day, especially after Keith (a.k.a. yard boy; sweaty boy; and slave), my family (with special props to my sissy, Vicki, who came up from Kentucky and was a help beyond words!) and I prepared like crazy for my 50th Birthday Bash on Sunday and having it end up even more spectacular than I could ever have imagined (it included a fireworks' display)!
So in the aftermath of that great weekend, I wish you all a "Pop Tart Morning!" with the sweet, sugary smell and warm, fuzzy feelings they bring on this hot, muggy Chicago day.
i’m still party gay