Last Night In On-the-Lam-It-Stan

It was good to hear from the SBPP program that it appears safe for us to return to River City, after about 30 days on the lam, fearful that our secret identities had been blown.  Bill's report that the UCTMW HQ was secure was reassuring. But let's hope he's swept for bugs, and has arranged for a cleaning service to get in there and handle any accumulated  cob webs and dust bunnies. I know Mistress likes things spic and span, and it would likely fall on her pampered Slave to take care of those details when we return.

We've certainly enjoyed our time here in these exotic climes. And D and the other staff members at the SBPP have done everything in their considerable powers to make life comfy for us here. (Somehow I'm going to have to replicate that Man Cave back at the World HQ).  Sin asked yesterday whether we were getting tired of the Yurt.... Well the Yurt's very cozy, but a full winter of the smell of smoldering Yak dung in our cloths and hair, or scrambling out to the privy in a few feet of snow could certainly test anyone's endurance.

We had arranged an evening out here in Dag-Nab-It-Stan with some work associates that Mistress has become close with. The plan was to attend a social event out in the "suburbs" with them. But the event turned out to be so strange, so awkward, so .... just plain disturbing, that even in my most cynical and snarky mode can't lower myself to do it justice. Let's just say it was a fundraiser, wrapped around a memorial service for a sadly departed daugther, where they served her favorite drink: a pink cosmopolitan.

So we figured a way to excuse ourselves early (while folks were dancing to "hang on sloopy", and making those dorky arm signals), and hopped aboard our Yaks to stop by a local restaurant we had not tried during our stay. The place was charming, but the noise from a local electronically enhanced band, playing covers of Jethro Tull, Kenny G and Steely Dan in a rather dissonant but native key had us a little on edge, and ready to head home by around 11 pm.

We approached the Yurt a little warily, wondering if Mistress had any more unexpected suitors lurking about. The coast seemed clear as I tucked the Yaks away for the evening in their shed.  (We've grown accustomed to these useful beasts, and hope the next bloggers on the lam enjoy them too).  But just as I was about to open the Yurt flap, I saw a strange, tall figure striding across the ridge line. The nearly full moon lit him, casting a broad shadow across the steppe. Was he looking for our Yurt, and for the legendary Mistress Simone? 

Let's hope not.... but it seemed like it was a good time to start packing....