donforrester1947 posted: " It was a rude awakening even though I was not asleep. I didn't have to give it a lot of thought to recognize that it was a from heads-to-toe kind of experience. Yeah, that pretty-well covers it. What else can I say? Part of the issue" Carpe Diem
It was a rude awakening even though I was not asleep. I didn't have to give it a lot of thought to recognize that it was a from heads-to-toe kind of experience. Yeah, that pretty-well covers it. What else can I say?
Part of the issue is that I opted not to go to the cleaners on Wednesday before
Thanksgiving. It had been my intent too so, but when I saw the line of cars on Hwy 281, I made a U-turn and went back home. I could do my own laundry rather than become absorbed in a quagmire of traffic in small town America.
Could traffic turn Blanco into the kind of mess you find in Dripping Springs? All I can say is that I hope not. When we moved to Drippin' in 1980, there was only a blinking traffic light at the intersection of Hwy 290 and RR 12. Twenty years later, you could burn up 30 to 45 minutes to get through town. God forbid the same could happen in Blanco.
Having failed to go to the cleaners, I opted to do a very small load of laundry early yesterday morning. The reason was simple. I had to do laundry because I was leaving town today. I bring it up only because the General pointed out that I have a closet full of shirts. She didn't understand why I need to do laundry.
Call it what you want, but it probably falls into the "fat neck" category. With the diplomacy of a bull in a China closet, the General pointed out that we got married, my neck size was 14. I guess you could say after years of exercise, my neck size is now 17 ½. My chest size remains the same. As you might surmise, there is a lot wrong with that picture.
It was approaching 11:00 p.m. by the time I ironed the three shirts that I needed, packed my suitcase, and turned off the light in my closet to then head to bed. Pardon the pun, that's when it hit me. Despite the night light in our bathroom, the low level of light failed to illuminate the closed barn door blocking the entrance to our bedroom. Like a roadrunner cartoon, I walked into the closed barn door hitting my head and the toes on one foot and everything else in between. I was no match for the barn door.
After getting into bed and pulling the covers up, the throbbing pain in one of my toes was the catalyst for me to exit stage right, turn on the light and look at one of my toes. I had figuratively done a number on it. When I changed my focus from my toe to the reflection of my face in the mirror, I noticed blood.
Okay, so I looked like I've been in a bar fight. All I can say is: "You should see the other guy." Actually, I feared I'd look worse for wear this morning. At least my forehead isn't covered with a bruise.
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