But it’s important to note that February 29 is NOT Sadie Hawkins Day.
I’m laying low, just the same.
So there I was driving along minding my business, when suddenly I heard a tremendous popping sound and the cab of my truck filled up with a foul smelling cloud. Apparently the guy at the UHaul store overfilled my propane cannister yesterday and the overflow valve burst a seal. I drove straight to my office with all the windows open and my head hanging out like a Golden Retriever.
Pay no attention to that loud hissing sound and rotten egg odor emanating from the culvert behind my warehouse.
I’m blaming it on the dog.
RUABelle swears that I must have been reincarnated from someone who starved to death during the Great Depression.
In the past week she has caught me:
Using vice grips to get the last three squeezes out of a tooth paste tube.
Cutting a hole in the udder of a wine in a box to pour one last 1/8 of a glass.
Stuffing my pockets full of blue paper shop towels from a Texaco station.
Bringing home four packets of peanuts from a couple of Southwest flights despite the fact that I am allergic to them.
Checking out and returning the same random CD on consecutive days at the Metro library downtown so I can park for free.
I prefer to call it “frugal.”
I know some people are allergic to the egg medium that flu vaccines come in, but not getting a $20 flu shot because you heard from somebody that it doesn’t cover every strain of influenza is like not wearing your seatbelt because you’re worried that it won’t protect you if you drive off a bridge and get stuck in 500 feet of water. It’s worth the risk.
I don’t wish the agony of the flu on anyone, but the rest of us that have to cover for you when you’re out sick would like you to please go to Walgreen’s next year.
RUABelle and I have been happily unmarried for 17 1/2 years.
That’s a grand total of 70 birthdays, Christmases, Valentines and anniversaries. Y’know, opportunities for her to expect a little blue box from Tiffanys.
I must be a tremendous disappointment.