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Thursday, Apr. 20, 2006
Writing has slowed even as slogging for the Man has burgeoned.

Plus, my cable internet goddam theives provider takes great delight in cutting signals and doing their tinkering during my prime time hours. Which, seeing as it’s between 2 and 6 am may not seem to be prime time for most, but it’s ever so precious to me. Looking over at the cable modem and seeing blank lights that should be glowing is the modern equivalent that Thor the Caveman must have felt when he ran out of chalk for a little midnight doodling on the living room wall.

Ally’s fine, thanks for asking. Her little bout with the kidney thingy lasted about as long as it took to write it up, and she is back to her role as a wielder of the broom that sweeps me into line.

She whisked me to Wal-Mart the other day, a sacrificial pilgrimage for me, for I do poorly at these places and tend towards long periods of heavy sighs and a loping pace toward the exit doors as soon as possible. But shoes (careful there, Zen) were on the menu for both of us, my steel toes were showing through the leather and had been for quite some time. As a fashion statement exposed steel toes don’t play well in, say, your local higher end restaurant. Or Wal-Mart, for that matter.

So we plowed through the aisles to the very back of the store and I snatched at my prize within seconds while Ally began the more labor intensive process of examining 600 pairs of sandals and bemoaning a lack of “Cute colors, why can’t they have these in tan?” and the heavy sighs from my area began in earnest.

I heard a voice - “Hey, Outfoxed and Ally! Whatcha doin’ in Wal-Mart?” and I beheld a leggy chick I recognized, one of the legion of barmaids from the Watering Hole.

“Well hey Dee, how are ye?”

She was tanned and clothed appropriately for the warm weather, or as appropriately as a barmaid normally is, I guess. Shorts and a sleeveless top. A good bit more sensible for April is Swampville than I, with jeans and a long sleeved shirt. And shoes that glinted of steel at the toes of course, but no one ever accused me of activating a brain while dressing in the morning. Dee and Ally hugged and spoke knowingly of sandals and the inherent value of collecting same.

Dee cocked an eye my way and grinned, striking a sort of runway fashion pose. “Notice anything different, sport? I mean, I haven’t seen y’all for a while . . .”, and she let it hang there for a spell.

I’m typically immune to noticing things different and had that whole Wal-Mart escape thing going on. “Notice? Different how?”

She did a little shimmey dance and spread arms as if to say, “Here! Check this out!”

Ally shook her head. “You might as well just tell him Dee, this is the man who thinks work trucks are sexy. I don’t think either of us has enough time to wait for HIM to pick up on stuff like this.”

Dee put hands to hips. “You gotta be kidding me. Look at me, for goodness sake.”

I looked. Same hair, weight about the same. What the hell?

“The boobs man, look at the boobs!”

Well damn. “Uh, new water bra?”

The girls let out whistles of amazement. “No chuckles, no bra at all,” said Dee. “Got a little front end work done. Takin’ them out for a test drive today.”

“You got a boob job?”

“Hey, you catch on quick. What’cha think?”

I studied. I stepped to the right for a better angle, frowned and retreated. Ally kneaded her forehead with a hand and slowly shook her head to and fro.

“You really got a boob job. Damn, they’re impressive. Let’s have a look, eh?”

Which is why, as I explained to my wife later (at length), you don’t take me to Wal-Mart. I can’t be held responsible for my actions. And I really didn’t think new shoes were such a hot idea in the first place.

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