Last week we took a trip Up North to visit the family of my husband's birth. They are an interesting crew. "Interesting" being, as you know, one of those words that can disguise one's true feelings. Or not. You won't catch me telling you.
We ate, we swam, we watched gigantic explosions over the water in a very fancy boat that belongs to his niece. This niece is doing quite well, if the boat and very fancy house with the pool are any indication. She has a personal psychic. Seriously. The psychic is on her payroll. So Niece is telling us both about what the psychic's been saying about Niece's life situation. Turns out psychic believes there's a vortex to another dimension in Niece's fabulous (and fabulously mortgaged) new home. This vortex can apparently be a Good Vortex or a Bad Vortex, depending upon a whole bunch of factors I neither understand nor want to try to remember. Right now, it's bad. It's causing chaos and unhappiness in Niece's home life.
Then Mr. Gosling asks (and this is a perfect example of why I love the hell out of this guy), "So. How much will she charge you to get this vortex out of your house?"
We can't stop laughing about that question. I'm going to say "vortex" to him right now and watch him try to keep from peeing himself.
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