Last night we had some good clean family fun, as opposed to other kinds that you could have. We went as a foursome to the carousel they set up every year at Westlake. We went last year too, when I had a giant lady lump out front, so last year I decided to ride next to Frannie. This year I got my own mighty steed (light blue), and my companion got stuck with the caboose.

Things went well, except for the fact that we stayed out too late. We had a short conversation with one of the horse buggy drivers who congregate around Westlake around Christmastime.

“You thinking about a ride?” a driver asked us as we stared at one of the horses.

I finally snapped out of my trance. “No,” I said. “We’re just city folk. I haven’t seen a horse up close in a long time.”

We also went into the giant chain bookstore across the street from Westlake to cash in my gift certificate from my birthday a couple of months ago. Of course Franny’s mittens broke up, and one stormed off, “on the escalator, maybe,” never to be seen again (it should be noted that this is the third pair since October), and then she had to pee and oh, god, “would you please get me this thing?”

“What is that thing, Frannie?” I retorted.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you want something if you don’t know what it is?”

“Maybe if you tell me what it is, I will want it, and I can have it,” she reasoned.

“Every time you ask me for something without knowing what it is, a puppy somewhere dies.”

“Mom, that is not true!”

“Hmmp,” I said, noncommittally.