So, I am having dental surgery Tuesday afternoon around 3. I do not look forward to going to the dentist. I'd rather lick the floor of the men's room at The Dome while a ruffian had his way with me than go to the dentist.
Literally. If you can arrange for me to lick the floor of the men's room at The Dome this evening while a ruffian has his way with me, I'll be there just as long as it would result in my not having to go to the dentist on Tuesday. Make it so.
In the improbable event that nobody can arrange for me to lick the floor of the men's room at The Dome this evening while a ruffian has his way with me, I must prepare myself mentally and physically for tomorrow's torture. Part of that included picking up some pills today at the drug store across the street from my work. These pills are anti-anxiety things that will make me relax. After the event, I will be unable to drive a car, so Patricia will drive us to and from work on Tuesday. Works for me.
There is a pretty good chance I will still be recovering on Wednesday. Meanwhile, if I had merely licked the floor of the men's room at The Dome while a ruffian had had his way with me, I could have recovered within a few hours. I might even have got the ruffian's phone number. One can't have too many friends.
Anyway, as I was heading back to my work from the pharmacy, whom did I run into, almost literally, then a regular and passionate reader of this blog. Deborah is an old friend of my sister's who discovered the blog and me after many years of not seeing me. I must ask her how she discovered the blog and became such a fan of it. I mean, it's not like Patricia reads this or anything. If I were to go out this evening and lick the floor of the men's room at The Dome this evening while a ruffian had his way with me, she wouldn't even notice I had been missing.
It was nice seeing her. I recognized her right away, and she didn't have a chance to avert her gaze, so she had no choice but to acknowledge me. We made small talk for a moment while she looked at her watch and rolled her eyes and sighed about having to get back to work and will you please take your hands off me? We parted: I, a little misty-eyed; she, more than a little relieved. She would probably prefer for me to lick the floor of the men's room at The Dome while a ruffian had his way with me.
It hurts. A little. Deborah's attitude that is, not the consequence of licking the floor of the men's room at The Dome while a ruffian had his way with me. I'm sure you understand.
Sniff!
Tomorrow's blog post should be interesting. I will be calm and relaxed with a worked-over pie hole. We will see how cogent and articulate I can be under those circumstances. Can't be worse than I am by default.
Wish me luck.
Bevboy
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