In retrospect, I don't think I would have cared if he HADN'T asked me out. *** So yesterday I was sitting on the guest bed in my room, my assorted papers spread all around me (because, you see, I was fruitlessly studying for my Biology and Math finals, or supposed to be studying for them, but that's not important),and I was facing the north wall , my feet propped up between my TV and my model horse shelves--toes wiggling discontentedly in striped purple socks--when I noticed this painting I've had in my room for just about forever. I mean, really noticed it--as in, I had never really looked at it before, even though it'd always been in plain sight for as long as we lived in this house. It's a painting of a light bay horse with four white socks and a blaze, and he's racing through the snow with a jockey on his back dressed in blue and white silks. I was sitting and staring at this painting, and I realized suddenly how much the horse looks like Matthew, and I sat up with a shock because i distinctly remembered sitting in bed one night when I was thirteen, and I had been praying like I usually do, and I asked God for "A big, bay gelding that was just like the one in the painting." Gasp. And I have him! I have him I have him and I will never let my baby go, thank you God for the pride and joy of my life, my Matthew, my darling baby boy. So that's my lame story of the week. Worship me, turnips.