This is from last weekend.
I'm a little behind.
Saturday, went down to the Mall for the national WAKA kickball finals with Lon, who very nearly got us shot.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
It was a gorgeous, gorgeous day: high 80s, no humidity, occasional clouds and a nice breeze.
I was wearing a sleeveless tee. Otherwise known as a muscle shirt.
For whatever reason (In the shade a lot? Moving faster than light?), I didn't put sunscreen on.
Hellooo, farmer's tan. Sunburn, actually.
At least I was wearing a hat.
We left for the afterparty, heading back to the car, which was parked by the Dept. of Agriculture building.
Carrying our folding chairs in the provided bags slung over our shoulders.
Cutting across the lawn, getting real close to the building.
Hey, what's that whistle?
Oh, it's a Federal Protective Service uniformed officer, about 200 yards behind us.
I couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but I'm pretty sure it was more along the lines of "Hold it right there" instead of "Please get off the lawn."
We didn't stop.
Lon, in a moment of pique, also decided to cut the corner through the parking lot.
Anyway, we made a clean getaway.