The LaReau Sisters must take a little blog break this week, as Kara and Jenna will be doing some traveling. In our absence, we encourage you to contribute to our FiNiSH the STORY feature. We just gave it a bit of a jump start, to get you (and Fanny) going.

Au revoir!

The LaReau Sisters invite you to join them in a moment of deference for Katharine Hepburn, who would have been 100 years old today.

What can we say about Kate? She was a tremendous actress, a real movie star, and a class act. She was the ultimate tomboy, a truly independent spirit, and a fashion icon. And she was and is our idol, a fellow girl from Connecticut who made it on her own terms.

Oh, and she knew how to speak her mind. Here's a little story for you:

It's the 1950s in our hometown of Stratford, Connecticut, and our mother is riding her bike home from school with a friend. They take a shortcut behind the Shakespeare Theatre, on a road near a row of cottages where the actors live for the summer. On the front porch of one of these cottages sits a woman wearing khakis and a white men's shirt. She is leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, sunning herself, her bare feet propped up on the porch railing.*

Yes. It is Kate.

Our mother and her friend recognize her immediately. They approach carefully, making their way up the porch steps.

"Mmm-Miss Hepburn?" they stammer. "We're big fans of yours, and we'd love an autograph."

Kate opens her eyes. She looks down at the two girls waiting patiently and eagerly for her response. Slowly, she removes her feet from the railing and stands up.

"Get the hell off my porch," she says. And of course, they do.

Happy birthday, Miss Hepburn. Among many other things, we're forever grateful to you for giving our mother (and so, in a way, us) a piece of your mind.

*The photo of KH above is from Jenna's personal collection. She's sitting on the porch of the aforementioned little cottage near the Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford, which became known thereafter as the Hepburn Cottage.

As many of you know, the LaReau Sisters are aficionados of true crime shows: "Body of Evidence," "Forensic Files," "Cold Case Files," and "Psychic Detectives," to name a few. These shows are compelling and fascinating, and provide us with a look at the darker side of human nature, the lengths to which law enforcement will go to seek justice, the stunning advancements in forensic technology, and just how STUPID most criminals are. (Whatever crime you're thinking of committing, just don't. Sooner or later, you will get caught. No, you will. Trust us.)

Perhaps because we are used to this level of realism, we're not as wowed by most fictionalized crime shows. In particular, we have an aversion to the CSI franchise, and "CSI: Miami" in particular. In part, it's because of the silly, fake technology they use, and the fact that all the women on the show have to wear tight pants, low-cut shirts, and stilettos while on the job (not to mention long, flowing hair at all times, even while analyzing evidence in the lab). But mostly, it's that their team is led by that pompous, carrot-topped blowhard, Horatio Caine, as played by that pompous, carrot-topped blowhard, David Caruso.

Caruso does so much scenery-chewing, it's a wonder he can speak with all the palm fronds and crime scene tape in his teeth. And his delivery is painfully hilarious. We can only compare him to the great William Shatner, though at least the Shat doesn't seem to take himself so seriously. David Caruso is all about his own (self-perceived) awesomeness, and of course, his sunglasses.

Lest you think we're alone in our findings, witness exhibit A (A++, really) above, via one of the geniuses at YouTube. You can thank us later, after you've cleaned up whatever beverage you've shot out your nose.

Attention, peeps! Our feathered friends, the Three Silly Chicks, are featuring the LaReau Sisters on their fantastic blog.

Many thanks to the Chicks for inviting us to chat — it was a real tweet!

P.S. Photo credit goes to the LaReau Sisters' father, who has since learned to keep his fingers away from the lens.