D-Day is upon us. Your humble Commissioner is hitting the road to personally take in all the glory and spectacle that is the WSHSHP (thank you, dear, for adding that missing letter).
My mother sends me off in typical Widow Rudy Style, with a bag full of sandwiches, a Sign of the Cross blessing, and a reminder that there is a serial killer loose preying on men in the La Crosse area. Pointing out that I am much older than all the victims was of no assurance to her. Neither was my oath to do all my drinking alone in my room.
A mother's work is never done.