Domestic Issues at the Forefront.

 

Just now when I came in, she began to remove remote controlled pieces from a pie-wedge shaped contraption, the likes of which have me wondering if I'm in the right line of work. Or even the right room, if I'm being honest. I had no choice but to pull her temporarily away from her betters to inculcate in her at least a small modicum of respect for the gravity of the situation. No one who's ever seen me fight with her in our local convenience store can question my true devotion to her eventual healing. It's a process which can sometimes take a matter of seconds. Still, though, if you'd ask around at the office, you'd notice that not a few folks would give you the cold shoulder before inviting you on a camping trip in the Shenandoah's.

This could be a kind of Springtime excursion in a Valley of One. All you'd need would be a compass, a canteen and some beef jerky. It also wouldn't hurt if you boned up on your Martial Arts techniques since it's a well known fact that some escaped convicts have been seen wiling away their vacant hours playing video games in the parking lot of Signcorps Arena, not fifty miles from here as the crow flies. They've impressed myself, my wife and our two children with their attention to detail when they wash our car at the annual Church fundraiser. Anyone who needs to be extricated from a suffocating timeshare will be able to apply for an appointment once we get back from the trip.

It's but a small step from our front porch to a concealed lab set-up where we process indentured servants for our involuntary organ donation program. By the third ride I was most definitely up for trying to grab vicious co-eds from the campus of Emory University to have them inducted into one Hall of Fame or another. From what I hear, no one is very particular these days. And, you know what I blame that on? I blame it on the wrath of Hurricane Martha from June of 1971. She cut a swath of destruction from here to the County Line. After that, anytime you'd see someone on the street, they're just as likely to ask you what time it is as they are to light a cigarette and just keep on walking. My kids are always talking about preparing for the End Times. I tell them not to worry. By the time they're old enough to drive, I will have given up on their Mother and joined the Merchant Marine. I've heard their sandwiches are to die for. If only.

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