So, I took Dewey this morning to a mobile clinic for his annual shots. I explained to the team of young veterinary folks that he was named Dewey because he was found at a library, so we named him after the Dewey Decimal System.
Blank stares.
Silence.
When I started explaining card catalogs, it was like I was chanting in Cantonese.
These little reminders that I’m ancient keep me humble.
So, as Dewey and I were wrapping up our morning walk, I spotted a basketball near the basketball courts at the park. It was lodged in a drainage canal which featured a trickle of water and mud.
Being an idio...good guy, I decided I’d snag it and put it back by the basketball court.
I probably don’t really need to explain much more do I?
After falling on my exponentially increasing quantum-sized quarantine butt, covered in mud and really smelly water rivaling a teenager’s gym locker, I dashed to the nearest restroom and then to the closest hand sanitizer station (rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, repeat, REPEAT! GOOD LORD, REPEAT! UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!).
I stripped off as much clothing as legally allowed...perhaps blurring that line.
We rushed home. I tossed every piece of clothing into the washing machine before showering with water hot enough to make the Sun swipe right on Tinder.
Emerging from the shower while admiring my blisters of boiled cleanliness I thought, “Where’s my phone?”
In a feral semi-sewage survivor state of mind, I hastened to the washing machine like an addict late for his methadone appointment. I yanked out all the clothes and carefully searched each article, dripping an abundance of nowhere near clean and still smelling somewhat like excrement discharge water everywhere.
The good news is...I didn’t wash my phone.
It turns out, it abandoned me in the car... apparently trying to flee my odor.
The bad news is I am 63 years old...too old to retrieve basketballs in a drainage ditch.
And I’m a dumbass.
So, how’s your Saturday going?
