You know, thereís some damn fool things I do every morning.
This is not to say theyíre ďeveryday thingsĒ, either. I just so happen to do Ďem every 24 hours. Taken as a whole Iím sure they paint a picture of a life if youíre into all that psychoanalysis hooey. Which I most assuredly am not.
Take for example this linkey. Just about every day I click Here to try to catch the sunrise aboard the cruise ship we sailed on back in September (if you try this, the ship in question is at the far upper left of the choices given). As a registered asshat, this has evolved to a game of sorts, since I try to see the occasional human flitting across the bridge camís scope, see if theyíre dressed for the occasion or performing some indecent act, you know? Iím willing to bet that if we ever get back on that cruise Iíll be the one out there at 6 am, mooning the camera and holding up suggestive cardboard signs.
Every day I let our elderly Labrador out the back door for his morning constitutional. First thing he does is stop to sniff the air, as if heís adjusting his radar or something. And naturally I do the same thing, head poked out of the storm door with nose skyward, checking the weather like some oversized rooster at first light. Iíve got internet weather, 24 hour Weather Channel and the local newscast and I still do this. Itís lunacy.
I make coffee every morning. Used to be Ally would make it, and make it at normal strength, back in the day when we had a coffeemaker with advanced settings and timers and all that other crap they stick on. The damn thing would seize up and the timer wasnít reliable and I wasnít getting my nuclear strength brew. So I took it over. Threw out the fancy machine and got a stripped down model, about one step north of a metal coffeepot with a perk dome. Now we have coffee that will strip paint and itís available at 5 in the morning every day. This is better.
Every day, or at least every weekday, my sonís girlfriend comes by to pick him up for school. 7 am on the button, the chick is nothing if not punctual. And every day I hear her slightly unmuffled car pull up, signaling the need to haul my aching carcass out of the recliner and move toward the front door. She knocks, I open. Iíve told her countless times to just come on in but she wonít hear of it. ďBut Mr. Outfoxed that wouldnít be right!Ē, she says. I have no idea why it isnít right, but have you ever tried to reason with a teenager 15 minutes before school starts? It ainít happening, yo.
There probably isnít a day that goes by that I donít think, sheesh Iím getting old.
And you know, today I have reason for it.
Pass the cake and a cup of high test coffee. Uncle Outfoxed is haviní a birthday.
It truly seems like any other day, and Iíll likely enjoy it just like all the others.
Thereís a lot to be said for regularity, right?
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