XXVI: The Play's the Thing

She wrote a play.

Makes no difference to me, except the play was then performed—twice—and that meant she dragged me off to Connecticut again.

The set for her play. Astoundingly, people actually came to see it
of their own free wills. Paid money even.

The play was performed Friday evening and again on Saturday night. This left us with all day Saturday to amuse ourselves in Connecticut. If you've tried it, you know it's no easy feat. After driving aimlessly for a bit, we ended up at an old house:

It belonged to a man made of LEGOs . . .

A suspicious character, not only in looks but because he clearly went by two different names.

A closer look at the house.

The American. It was windy out.

As it turns out, they are very fond of LEGOs in Connecticut . . .

Not sure how one is expected to make anything of these.

Later . . .

I decided I wasn't hungry.

Oh, but the injury added to insult:

She has promised we will not have to go to Connecticut again. Because we are moving to San Francisco.

Joy.

Excuse me a moment while I step out and attempt to contain myself.