From the beginning things didn’t go well. and before long I was chasing little wrinkles up and down; exacting one crease from the leg above, while creating one on the leg below. I touched the iron again to make sure it was sufficiently cool.

The rest is best forgotten, or certainly best concealed. I finally put things away, with only marginal improvement for the effort. When Kathy came home, she wasn’t a bit appreciative to see that I’d tried to iron her “best” pants.

I do hope you used a cool iron, she said.

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Maybe I should replace a couple of those burnt out bulbs after my nap.

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I went into the garage to get my trowel and potting mix, and when I came back he was doing a hubba-hubba up the inside wall. Stretching and dragging to beat all. I tell you, no snail’s pace for this fellow. He knew where he was going and he planned to get there. Still, it was hard not to squish him.

I decided to go in and make a sandwich. I’d give him that long. I made up something really good with Kathy’s lunch tuna and some sliced sourdough. Then I put it in the fridge for after. I got out the chips, a glass for my milk, and pulled open the back door.

Well, I never would have believed it. Now my little Gastropodian friend is over the top, down the other side, out and onto the cool cement, making a bee-line for my annuals. I can’t help but spare him; I said I would.

So I picked him up and dropped him over the back fence, into my mean neighbor’s garden.

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When it came time to crack the eggs for the pan, that yolk came out just as firmly intact as the others, of course.

Kathy came in to refill her coffee cup. “What are you making?” she asked.

I pulled a fork from the flatware drawer.

“Scrambled eggs,” I said.

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“We do…” I explained patiently, “but he said he was planning to call me later.”

“And?…”

“And…how can he call me if I’m still on the phone with him?”

Some people are so obtuse.

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Kathy’s trying to support my efforts. She’s gone to 999-Island dressing.

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In the steak department, the one-and-a-half’s tended to be 1 1/4″s unless you fluffed them up a bit. If you like filets, the offerings were medium to petite. And while all the meat had excellent flavor—I’ll give them credit for flavor—the quality of the meat, in the “eat-ability” sense, was certainly not high-end. Notwithstanding that Kathy could carve out the bad part of a sirloin burger, she pared away about a quarter of her filet.

This morning she came over to say there had been horrible sound when she turned on the garbage disposal. Something was locked in mortal battle with it, and the disposal was losing. Very, very carefully, she reached down into the disposal and pulled out the remnants of—wait, wait…never mind… The whole thing’s just disgusting.

I’m O so disappointed.

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“What are you doing?” she inquired. I stopped twirling.

“Uuuhh…” I began cleverly, “remember when you told me I should wear this thing so I could see how far I walked in a day?”

She crossed her arms.

“And, remember the other day when it was raining so hard?”  Her eyes narrowed down to coins.

“…Well, every time I took Rufus out it was either, you know, coming down or threatening to. So we kind of fast-walked it down to, um, maybe around Bud’s old house, crossed over and circled back from over by Helen’s. We did it over and over. …Until he did his business…and well, I guess decided he’d had enough walk.”

“…And?” Just a faint smile.

“…And, well…there you go,” I concluded, pausing only a moment to find something to conclude. “We took probably a gazillion steps, but Bud’s isn’t even a 100 yards from here. You said this measures how far you go. I think it owes me some.”

I went back to twirling. Kathy is looking for the receipt.

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Well, she said, so much for the next six weeks’ weather forecast.

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I had everything I needed, except the Hammy. I considered alternatives, but somehow “Moons Over My Spammy” didn’t have the same appeal.

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