My Jeff is home! He apparently had a fine time in Vegas despite the heat and the annoying voice mails from me demanding to know why he hadn't called. (Answer: he was busy.) At one point they took Max skydiving but no one else tried it (chickens!) so Max sailed through the deep blue yonder by himself. Jeff took a picture of him puking which I have left out. I am impressed that Max did this at all, so the puke is incidental as far as I'm concerned.
Annie, Michelle and I, on the other hand, did not push Danielle out of an airplane on her last weekend of batchelorettehood. We just took her out for dinner and a movie, so now I worry we sort of failed her. Danielle is not a big fan of Danielle-oriented events or plastic penis accessories, nor is she a drinker, so I hope this was okay. The rest of the weekend I was sucked into watching television that analyzed 9/11 from every possible angle, so I now know more about fire proofing sky scrapers than I ever hoped to. Perhaps that may be a factor in my calling Jeff every ten seconds to ask him what he was doing.
Phoebe has decided to forgive Jeff for going away. She's more forgiving than I am. It will probably take me a day or so. He looks really tired. Right now he's lying on the couch "meditating." And drooling a little.