Bat your eyelashes at the tollbooth worker.

It was with no small wryness that I noted my horoscope's recommendation regarding tollbooth workers yesterday morning. Tollbooth workers? We don't even have a stoplight where I live. And the last time I used a tollbooth in anything like my daily life was when I lived in Rochester. I will admit to having fallen for the glamour of racing up to the booth, taking my ticket and grinning at the attendant, and then racing off; this sequence of events was most enjoyable on high sunny Fridays when I was zipping back to Ithaca for the weekend.

Today looks to be one of those high sunny days, but there are neither tollbooths nor tollbooth workers between here and Lexington, between me and my friends and their almost-born. Maybe I'll bat my eyelashes at something else.