Over the river and through the woods is exactly where my grandparents live. Their home is nestled comfortably in a forested plateau, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. The roads are unpaved and often unmarked, and if you ever pass another person—family, friend, or stranger—while traveling through the neighborhood, you are required by ancient law to wave at one another with all the love you can muster.

It is my favorite place in the whole wide world and home to my favorite people. A weekend visit was far too short.

Earlier tonight, my father said (apropos of nothing), "We should head over to GAT Guns and get our FOID cards, so we can defend ourselves against the Ebola zombies."

No part of that sentence went where I was expecting it to go, but I think that might be my favorite kind of sentence.

Back in ye olde college days, one of my best friends asked to borrow my skirt because he was dressing up as a hooker for a very elaborate group costume event (involving an entire dorm floor full of wonderful, adorable, truly nerdy guys who were also slightly mischievous). It only just now dawned on me that I probably should've been offended that he thought I would own something suitable for the occasion. And really, I might consider pouting about it belatedly, but how often does a girl get the chance to participate in such debauchery? Plus, I totally had the perfect skirt.