It's moustache month, according to Bobby, which means it's also stop-shaving-your-legs month.

Attractive, yes?

So four years ago, I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead for the very first time. My friend Becky and I were leaving from Manhattan, KS and heading toward Omaha, NE. Becky had mapquested the directions, and as I was driving, Becky asked if it would be okay if she took a nap during the 75 mile stretch. I agreed, and as I drove for the next hour, wondered why all the signs said "W" instead of "N" and why when I was supposed to merge on a major highway, I was in the middle of the country. When Becky woke up, we were just outside Mankato.

Fantastic.

Yesterday, Bobby had a race in Heber Valley. It was cyclocross race, and when he was done, he was very tuckered. We still managed to go out to lunch with one of his biking buddies (who happens to also be our dentist) and go shopping in the outlets in Park City before he was ready to pass out. He gave me directions on how to get home, and then went to sleep. I woke him up an hour later.

"Um, honey? Is Evanston between Park City and Provo?"

Yup. I definitely drove to Wyoming.

Worst. Sense of direction. Ever.