And I have the license plates to prove it. After the most relaxing experience I have ever had with respect to tending to anything bureaucratic related to a motor vehicle, and being lent a slotted—and then a Phillips-head!—screwdriver by the county tax office with which to attach my new plates, I ventured into the punishing sunlight with my resolve steeled to be Brave and Independent, which lasted until A REAL LIVE TEXAN WITH AN ACCENT AND EVERYTHING asked me if I needed help, ma'am, to which I readily assented (feminism, sheminism).
I then moseyed about town for a bit. Antiques aren't my thing, but if they're yours, Georgetown is a good place to be. I poked my head into some used bookstores and galleries, then happened upon a shop where I bought an ox-blood-colored bar stool (so much for my to-hell-with-furniture resolution, but in my defense, it was twenty dollars, and the purchase was influenced by the fact that they were so darn NICE to me there, because, darn it, Georgetown is somewhere you should go when you need people to be NICE to you), and walked out with that, plus commendations on my bravery for starting from scratch in a place where I don't know anybody, and a cold bottle of water, and a recommendation that I visit the office of the local paper to see about a job, AND some copies of a local magazine so that I can look into freelancing for it. Plus, the lady who works there is praying for me. Did I mention that people are NICE here?
By way of further illustration, one lady, after proceeding through an intersection in her vehicle, honked her horn at me to make sure she had my attention when she APOLOGIZED for not letting me go first!
The moral of this post: people are NICE in Georgetown!
In truth, I was a little sad to leave.
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