The flight home arrived late Sunday afternoon, Valentine's Day!

My mail slot was jammed with junk. I didn't look through it. I tossed it onto the kitchen table. I didn't bother to unpack. I just opened up my suitcase to the air and dumped it in the spare bedroom.

I'd booked off the Monday. I usually take that extra day to decompress. At the moment, my mind and body remained in holiday mode, despite obvious realities: grey overcast, the cold, the dry winter air, and I had zippity-do-dah to eat in my apartment.

I made a quick trip to Loblaw and the LCBO through sluggish and slushy traffic, picked up the essentials: halibut, vegetables, grapefruit juice and Southern Comfort. Like I said, I was still in holiday mode. The only thing missing was BeBe. Yes, she had remained top-of-mind.

In short order, I was savouring my pre-dinner SC & GFJ on ice. HoochyMama! even more yummy than rum punch.

There was a knock at my door. Pop-In? That's weird because visitors must be buzzed-up.

Cocktail in hand, I went to see who possibly could be calling.

Ah, Lexie!

I'll explain...