Good Morning, Sherman Oaks!

Good morning, Sherman Oaks.  Did you miss me?  Not even a little? How hurtful, Sherman Oaks.  How dismissive.  I missed you.  Well, okay.  Not really.  I missed the sons.  I missed the dog.  But I kept hearing about your heat wave.  I wasn't too excited to come back to that, not when I've been luxuriating in New York icky-sticky humidity that gives my baby fine ka-ka hair extra, much-needed lift, and temps in the 70s.  Despite all my non-stop kvetching about packing, this time, I nailed it.  I brought the right clothes, the right shoes, the right attitude.  I'll admit I was a little worried, weather-wise.  This trip marked the first one without my dad working his magic on the weather gods.  Good thing, Bubbles offered to take over.  She promised me a "no rain" week and she delivered... for the most part.  Every time it got a little misty, she sent a quick text of apology.  "Yeah, sorry about the two seconds of drizzle.  I'll get rid of it." And she did.  That's just the kind of friend she is.  But on Friday, Bubbles dropped the ball.  It rained, big time, but not until we were on our way to the airport.  "You did the best you could, Bubbles," I reassured her.  "Maybe next year, you'll do better."  Did I say next year?  Every year, when I tag along with hubby to the CW Upfront, I'm so spacey the first few days, so turned-around, so ill-equipped to cope, I announce that next year, I just might skip the trip.  And then, much like pregnancy and childbirth, events I didn't think I could do more than once, I'll forget I ever said "never again" and next year, I'll come back to NYC.  This is pretty much how the SJG gets through life:  Kvetch.  Rinse.  Repeat.