Or, a story to tide you over until I’m past the craziness of trying to buy a house.

So Maryland Sheep and Wool festival dawned this year and I attended with a dear friend, husband, and daughter in tow. Although I adore all the people with whom I attended, it reminded me that when I go to festivals, I really ought to attend alone, with a game plan, and if I happen to meet cool people there, so be it.

At any rate, the major lack of attention span that resulted from having my husband and daughter along left me with the single most tragic case of camnesia I’ve yet to experience: I met Amy Singer and I have absolutely no proof of the encounter.

Dear Amy Singer:
I’m the one who accosted you across from the Cormo people to introduce myself, and gave you vague directions to Tess’ booth, including the brilliant phrase “Just look for the mob!” as if that actually delineated anything from anything else.
Dorkitudinally Yours,
Liz