What rounded, obtuse, slippery wet plastic oveur sits, wet and heavy, on our stomachs, rising up and down with each breath! We try to relax, and yet, and yet, it proves difficult because of the…. thing….. sitting before us.
So there I was. Evading the rain. It was snowing in places to the north and west. TWC said so.
Who was the baby’s father? Did it matter? Would it change anything? Did the baby favor any of twelve potential fathers? Why, Maury? Why do you feel the burning need to know?
I pondered these questions over a sniffer glass of nog.
I plodded along on my stationary bicycle, pedaling and pondering and pedaling and keeping my eyes on the fitness tracker computer, with the twin AA batteries and the one big button that was my only interfaced with the accursed arbiter of my workout progress….
my stomach gurgled
what in the?
The nog went right through me and I had an accident on myself. I felt a coldness on me as I walked to the powder room.
On the television, Maury read the paternity test results. After the commercial break, that was. A reason to go the DSS office, mum.
My thoughts crystallized around not drinking nog anymore, but it tasted so good that it always seemed to be able to pull me. It had a pull of its own, all its own, and could entice me whenever and wherever.
If a man found himself not to trust his own insides, where was he then? Would he ever go back to Wal-Mart without undergarments? How would he get undergarments? Nobody would come to his house.
There was no help for it! It was all no good!
Free delivery from Amazon! That was the ticket! That was his saving grace, it was!
And on the empty plains, the children rejoiced!
That’s how it was, on this day in history, today, Obama.