So I'm having Ferris Bueller's day off. Husband Bob has been rambling about with me; he's half-retired and already had the day off. We've poked around in Carrboro, the Paris of the South: thrift shops, used books, a camera store, a bead store (he was patient), a run through McDonald's for sweet tea, now the Chapel Hill Library. Soon a Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant (the Fiesta Grill, which seats 13) that's supposed to be amazingly good. (There's nothing like warm gooey cheese in my estimation.)
Probably Bernanke will announce early next week that my taking a day off is yet another sign of the receding recession.