megfowler.com

Apparently, all you need to get across the border successfully nowadays is, uh… me.

Or so Catherine must have believed, according to this exchange on our way home from Seattle with Eric last night (oh, didn’t I tell you he was in town?):

Border guard: Where are all of you from?

Catherine: Vancouver, Vancouver and San Diego.

Border guard: (looking a little concerned) Where did all of you meet?

Catherine: (turning bright red) Uh… we met on the Internet.

Border guard: (looking much more concerned) You all met on the Internet?

Catherine: Yes! Wait… no! She and I didn’t. She was my boss.

Border guard: (Eyes narrowing) What website did you meet on?

Catherine: Oh… um… it wasn’t actually a website, really. She’s (pointing back at me) actually a successful blogger!

Meg: (kicking Catherine’s seat) Oh my gosh!

Border guard: (smirking) Oh?

Catherine: Yes! She has a lot of readers! And she’s also on the radio sometimes, too!

Border guard: Really?

Meg: (kicking harder)

Catherine: Yes! She’s on Crave sometimes, reading stuff from her blog.

Border guard: That’s the new station, right?

Catherine: Yes! And you can find her blog at MegFowler.com!

Meg: (dying in the backseat)

Eric: (dying of laughter)

Border guard: Any alcohol or tobacco?

Catherine: Nope!

Border guard: (laughing) Go ahead, then.

Just like that, we were through.

And that’s not even the weirdest thing that happened to me all day.

While standing near Pike Place Market in the Emerald City, trying to figure out our next move, I happened to lean against a nice mailbox that seemed to be standing there for nothing other than my convenience and comfort.

Oh, how wrong I was.

After talking for a few minutes, I noticed that Catherine looked a little tired of just standing there in the hot sun, so I went to offer her my mailbox.

However, when I started to move away from the box and send her there, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Then I saw Eric reaching for me in slow motion.

I continued to step forward, completely startled, until I saw something light and stringy out of the corner of my eye, stretching away from the mailbox.

From the mailbox to my ASS.

A giant wad of stretchy, warm, sticky gum, to be exact.

On my white shirt.

I backed up again quickly, and tried to de-gum myself with as little drama as possible, while Catherine and Eric tried not to fall into traffic laughing.

I mean, they were sympathetic, of course. But I also had blue gum all over my ass, so.

Eventually, after getting off as much gum as was humanly possible, I folded up my own shirt to cover up the sticky part.

I looked awesome, like one of those people with slightly askew clothing who you always want to fix, but can’t bring yourself to approach.

The second-to-last task of the day was introducing Eric to my parents, because he’d met Catherine’s mother, and I didn’t want to have to explain THAT to my mom and dad, who have been curious about the kid for ages.

What were the highlights of that visit, you ask?

My father bear-hugging Eric because “you only told your mom not to.”

My mother offering Eric a small clay statue of a “Canadian Beaver!” as a souvenir. (Yes, she was kidding.)

My mother eventually hugging Eric, anyway.

My mother trying to give me my late grandmother’s ceramic geese.

By the time we got home, we were too late to eat anything but Subway (which isn’t really a chic thing to feed your Californian guest, but hey… who said we were chic?)

I’m just on the radio sometimes.

And covered in gum the rest of the time.