On the Train to Crazy Town

Because we only have one car (countdown to car #2 is less that 24 hours), I often have to chauffeur The Rev. to and from church. He likes to get to church extra early on Sundays so he can practice his sermon, so he woke me up early for his practice session. I rolled out of bed, stuffed my feet into a pair of slippers and grabbed my car keys. The Rev's expression when he saw me wearing bright pink slippers, white athletic socks, red fleece pants, and a purple fleece pullover (not to mention that my hair looked like one of the cats had been chewing on it) communicated clearly to me exactly what he was thinking. "I know, I know," I said, "I look like I'm on the train to Crazy Town."

"No, you look like you are homeless."

Yeah, well I thought your sermon was five minutes too long.