All good stories start this way:

I was walking down Franklin Street yesterday.

You have to understand that I will not drive down Franklin.  I hate red lights.  I consistently will go a block out of my way and drive down Decatur instead of Franklin.  There are a lot of people who think I do this because I am stalking them.  In case they are reading my Xanga, I am not stalking you.  I am flipping off your houses as I drive by, but that’s all.

Sorry. ADD moment.  In any case, while I will not drive down Franklin, I will walk down it.  As I was yesterday, when all of the sudden an ambulance comes barreling down the street.  No lights, no siren, just flying down the street.  I pause to watch this spectacle, and as the ambulance nears me, the window opens and the horn blares, and someone leans out and yells, “Sara!”

It is not uncommon for drivers of emergency vehicles in this town to yell “Sara!” as they drive past, but generally, they don’t blow the horn.

So I turn, and I see my sister Rachel, driving the ambulance, waving like a maniac out the window.  Geez. You let a girl get married, and she gets all weird…

.hov:hover{background-color:yellow}