. . . I have to decide what kind of gin I want in my martini. I feel that this really brings me close to the memory of my great-great-grandfather, who used to ferry people to the West Coast over the Oregon Trail.

I'm sure at the end of a long day, as they circled the wagons and started a campfire, my g-g-g was wondering whether it was a Bombay Saffire night or a Tanqueray occasion.

Times were hard back then, and I imagine he had to go without ice now and then. But he was a tough guy, like his descendent, the blogging chick.

Of course, it might be a slightly different type of toughness, now that I come to think about it. He probably had to hunt small game to keep the wagon train fed. I hunt grammatical errors, to keep my Cruiser fed.

Other than that, it's exactly the same lifestyle.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:55 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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