It's a Jump to Conclusions mat. It's a mat ... that you can jump to conclusions on!

When events are on the horizon (as in through-a-high-powered-telescope horizon, not "next month"), I start preparing. Unnaturally early.

In elementary school, I'd go to bed and think about where I was going to sit on the bus the next morning. In high school, I'd filled out three or four college applications (and subsequently threw them away) before senior year started, just in case Bowling Green State University called to ask me what I'd gotten on my ACT. And I didn't even go to BGSU in the end. Shows what I know.

In college, I'd plan out classes for all four years. Start packing when our lease was four months from ending. I was that woman who was secretly (not publicly) planning her wedding months before she got an engagement ring. I knew what color I wanted our bathroom to be before we bought a house (sage green).

I'm that kind of person, OK? So don't even think for one second that I'm trying to tell you something. I'm not. OK? OK. May I continue?

Dave and I went antiques shopping for a bit on Saturday, with the intention of burning some time before completing another seven-hour "CSI" marathon (gawsh).

I know Golden Books and Playskool are antiques just like, say, eight track tapes. But the toys, they were there. And cheap. And we got one. Two. OK, OK, there were three. God, there were three. Ah! Please, don't pull my fingernails out. I admit. There are three. OK? STOP ASKING. Dave carried one around, I had two; and together we probably weren't noticed by a soul. But I sure felt like a crazy. Hey, you just can't be too prepared for the next five, six years of your life. Plus, I could find someone to baby sit for at any moment.

Don't be too alarmed.

If someone offered me a good, sturdy cane I'd probably take that, too, just in case I need it in the next half-century. You just NEVER KNOW.