Last week, PB and I snuck (sneaked?) off to Vegas.  As in Las Vegas.  Nevada.  To see our niece perform in her high school musical.  Honest.  Most people who take a long weekend to Sin City go to see shows and gamble in casinos.  Driving down The Strip was just about enough stimulation for me.  I felt a little out of my element, I guess.  Thankfully, my brother-in-law and his wife have a lovely home in a very normal residential area of the city.  And they let us stay free, drive their car, and eat whatever we want out of their refrigerator.  We had a good time hanging out together; their kids and grandkids provided plenty of entertainment.

On our way to the airport Sunday morning, a billboard caught my eye.  It had a picture of a long-legged woman on it with the caption, “JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF WRONG.”  I admit, it caught my breath.  What is the right amount of wrong, exactly?  Just enough to feel like you are getting away with something without getting caught and having to pay any consequences?  And, right and wrong according to whom?  And, how do you know when you’ve had the wrong amount of wrong?  Is there a wrong amount of right?  Or a right amount of right?  I honestly don’t know where to go from here, so I’ll stop this madness. 

This I do know:  our niece’s play was the best show in Vegas.  She’ll be a star someday.  And our great-niece sings the most fantastic songs about goats you’ve ever heard.  And kids grow up fast when there are big gaps of time between visits.  And there’s nothing like spending time with family you don’t get to see very often.  And I love my little midwestern town.  I’ll leave someone else to figure out the other stuff.