As it turns out, Brian Kelmar, the man I emailed after Mr. Google and I found him, is as much a mensch as Bob Sweeney is. I’m in the car with my dear friend Sandra, the one who couldn’t get in the house to take care of the cats (what cats?!) until Bob climbed onto the deck with a ladder, got in, fed them and then wisely left the door open so a) Sandra could get in and care for the little buggers on a daily basis because of course she has nothing else to do, and b) so I could get in once I arrived. We’re on our way from Dulles Airport to Warrenton, our conversation laced with “These fucking kids” and “What were we thinking?” and “Why didn’t anyone warn us?” and finally, “But would we have listened?”
Part Eight: Can You Hear Me Now?
Part Eight: Can You Hear Me Now?
Part Eight: Can You Hear Me Now?
As it turns out, Brian Kelmar, the man I emailed after Mr. Google and I found him, is as much a mensch as Bob Sweeney is. I’m in the car with my dear friend Sandra, the one who couldn’t get in the house to take care of the cats (what cats?!) until Bob climbed onto the deck with a ladder, got in, fed them and then wisely left the door open so a) Sandra could get in and care for the little buggers on a daily basis because of course she has nothing else to do, and b) so I could get in once I arrived. We’re on our way from Dulles Airport to Warrenton, our conversation laced with “These fucking kids” and “What were we thinking?” and “Why didn’t anyone warn us?” and finally, “But would we have listened?”