The Pompetus of Love

Busy, busy. I spent the afternoon in the store, where I had every intention of sitting in a folding chair, surfing the net and reading Johnny's latest novella, but it was not to be. Alas, customers selfishly overlooked my needs and showed up in droves. My friends showed up in droves, though I hardly blame them. If I hadn't seen me for more than a few minutes I might be traumatized, too! So deigning to talk to them is the very least I can do. Which I did.

An older gentleman who reminds me of my dad in twenty years asked me to an art show. If he reminded me of anyone else I might've accepted the invitation but the Dad association made it super-strange. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I told him I was meeting my new wife in Oswego next weekend, and I hope Oswego's a place or I'll have to get in one. And a wife.

This is going to sound crazy but I'm too tired to complain. My family was throwing a baptism. Siiobhan's family threw a surprise party for a ninety-something-year-old great aunt. I'd like a look at that will. Last summer we threw a suprise party for my 93-year-old Grandpa, and when Mom wouldn't listen to the idea that at his age he might appreciate fewer surprises I got the idea that she wanted his Tupperware collection.

I mean, who wouldn't?

Bless my buttons, I've pictured Mom on America's Most Wanted, effortlessly turning the perpetually irate John Walsh to melted butter but trying to help, "John, I think you were asking why every judge in Somerset County recused himself and sent me a bouquet but, begging your pardon, you seem to have lost your vowels."