It's convertible weather ...

On Friday, Tim and I went out for milkshakes at the Cree-Mee Freeze (as seen on an episode of Sex and the City) where townies show off their new cars, like the convertible BMW that pulled in immediately behind us.

The kids and dad piled out while the mom remained in the car.

I couldn't place the kids until one called the other by name. They've changed with the years, but I knew them. Tim still had on his school uniform and, noticing it, the dad mentioned it to the kids: Hey, he goes to the same school that you used to. They didn't seem to remember.

Rather than head straight home with our ice cream, Timmy wanted to enjoy it outside a bit. He walked right past the convertible to the outdoor seating area, but I took a less direct route. She held her hand to her forehead as if she was recovering from a serious illness but shot us quick glances through the web of her fingers as we sat there. I couldn't resist staring directly at her, my jaw dropped unconsciously low, at the possibility that she was trying to hide from being seen!

Honey, there's no hiding in a convertible. Isn't that why you drove it out tonight? To show it off and "be seen?"

Within a few minutes, she gave up the charade, removed her sunglasses - they hadn't protected her - and made a faint wave at us. I waved limply back and on the way out, didn't bother to speak a word to her. Now I wonder if she remained in the car to avoid us in the queue ... or if she really wasn't well.