It’s Not Easy Being Me
It takes a touchingly devoted stalker to put on a uniform and get into a police car, early and on his day off, just so he could waylay me on my way home from church. (Sure, Nick, you can call it “overtime” if you want.) And he spoke longingly of the ridealong he wants me to go on with him, which I wouldn’t do if he got down on his knees and begged me. (Actually, I guess I
would if he did that, but he’d never do it, so I’m safe.) And anyway, Nick, you should know that abducting someone in a helicopter isn’t really feasible. So much for the Adventures of Beauty and the Beast.
Enough about police work. How about firefighting? I congratulate our own Denali, who consumed some contest-winning quantity of over-spiced chicken wings tonight. It shows a serious lack of judgment, and I hope Hose House 3 does not get any fire runs in the near future.
And speaking of which–Rom and I were talking about basic human maintenance, and I realized how many of my preparation routines are predicated on the question–What if the house caught on fire? I don’t sleep in the nude, because what if the house caught on fire? The order I wash up in the shower is based on, if the house caught on fire, which parts of me would I be most sorry I hadn’t had time to wash? Well, you have to have some basis for these decisions! Like, how do you decide which underwear to put on, if not to match your outfit? (I couldn’t find a way to relate that decision to the house being on fire.) The other day, Jess (my stepdaughter) gave me a ride to my errands, and I was able to throw on clothes fairly quickly, but only because I’d planned my outfit the night before. If I hadn’t, I’d still be standing in front of my closet to this day.