Lee Child book.
::sigh::
I love Jack Reacher.
* * *
Fred reminded me last night that I forgot to tell a Gatlinburg story.
First, some backstory. Since I’ve lost weight, I have started to sweat easily. I mean, I sweated a lot when I was at my highest weight, but I sweat far more now. I think it’s got something to do with sweat being your body’s way of cooling off, and as I’ve gotten in better shape, my body’s become more adept at cooling me off faster.
That, or I’m a freak.
On Monday mornings when I go to feed the cats at the pet store with Fred, while he’s doing the heavy work – the cleaning of the litter boxes and the scrubbing out of the cages. My job on those days is to refill the food and water dishes, and cuddle with the kitties. By the time we’re done, Fred is still perfectly dry, while I am soaked with sweat from head to toe.
So not ten seconds after we stepped out into the warm, sticky, humid day around 10 Friday morning, I began sweating. Profusely. I was Albert Brooks in
Broadcast News, battling a river of sweat. But at this point, I’ve gotten used to it, and tend to not even realize I’m sweating unless I reach up to scratch my forehead or push my hair behind my ears, at which point I realize a lake of sweat has taken up residence on my forehead and sent streams down my cheeks and neck.
Usually I end up with a sea of sweat in my bra. Luckily, I wear cotton bras which are very absorbent.
Anyway, I noticed fairly quickly on Friday morning that I was sweating, but since I had no napkins or tissues with me, I simply swiped my face with my hands and thought no more of it.
Fred stopped in front of the
Ripley’s Moving Theater and asked if I’d be interested in taking a ride. I said I would, and we stood in line. The woman in front of us, accompanied by a kid, bought two tickets. The ticket lady, with no comment, handed over the tickets and the 3-D glasses.
Fred stepped up to the counter, and I stepped up beside him.
“Two tickets, please,” he said. The ticket lady smiled up at him, and then she glanced at me. She pointed at the sign behind her, which had a list of restrictions – the usual “You shouldn’t ride this ride if you’re pregnant, have a heart condition, have a blood pressure condition, blahblahblah.”
“You need to read the sign behind me and be sure no one in your party,” and here she gave me a significant look, “has any of the listed health concerns.”
Fred blinked at her, read the sign, and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “No one does,” he finally said.
We were handed our tickets and 3-D glasses, and Fred led the way inside.
“What the hell was THAT about?!” I fumed once we were away from the ticket booth. “What, just because I’m fat she thinks I have a heart condition? She should be talking! She didn’t look all that healthy to me, either!”
“Bessie,” Fred said patiently. “You’re covered in sweat, and you’re all pasty and pale. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” He grabbed my shoulders and pointed me toward a wall covered with mirrors.
He wasn’t kidding. I looked like I was about to drop dead. But I felt fine, and I guess that’s what’s important.
Although, my father used to say to me ‘Nando, don’t be a shnook. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you look! And roo look
mahvelous!
* * *
My glads are continuing to bloom slowly. About 1/3 of the bulbs I planted put up a shoot about 6 inches high, and then turned brown. I’m guessing that they’re probably too crowded, and would have been happier in the ground. Maybe I’ll actually dig a bed next Spring for them.
But then again, maybe not. I’d probably die from dehydration after about 5 minutes of digging.
* * *
We’ve started working our way through season 1 of
The Sopranos . I’ve seen a few shows here and there, but Fred really hasn’t (although he can identify Big Pussy and “That Van Zandt guy”), and since there’s not a lot on TV during the summer, we decided to give it a try.
So far we’re definitely enjoying it – though we were surprised to find that Tony Soprano seems to cry, or at least tear up, in almost every episode.
Anyway, last night we were sitting in the living room watching an episode, when something out the window on the back patio caught my eye. I turned my head and looked.
“We have a bunny on the patio!” I told Fred. We went outside to check it out, and he hauled ass across the yard, then sat under the tree and eyed us. Fred walked toward him and he hauled ass behind the shed and disappeared. We thought he might have gone under the shed, so Fred looked but he wasn’t there. We finally decided he must have gone through a small gap in the fence.
Damn he was cute. I’d show you pictures, but I didn’t think to grab the camera. He was small, too – I don’t think he was fully grown yet.
Cute as he was, I hope he takes the cue to stay out of our yard. I’d really rather not wake up one morning and find a half-dead rabbit trying to hop around the bedroom.
I’ll point out that Fancypants has been gone for about a month, and in that time, there have been no animals brought into the house. Coincidence? I think not.
I still miss his fancy ass, though.
* * *
“Meh. MEH. Meh!”
Is it just me, or does Spanky look all miserable back there, all curled up into a tight ball?]]>