Hell of a Guy

Ugly Women and Pit Bulls…

03/10/2012

Don’t pay a lot of attention to the title, it really has nothing to do with what this piece is about, and at this point neither do I.  So, from this point on, this will be a study in stupid BS.

The title: The other day I was driving from Beautiful Downtown Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, population 711 to Hershey, Pennsylvania, the chocolate capital of the universe, to work an educators’ conference for my former company as a “consultant,” which is how we old-timers describe being paid for doing some part-time work.  Along the way I made a brief stop in Chambersburg, PA to visit a home-brewing supply store that I found out about on the internet.  The shop would not to be opening until 11:30am and it was just 11when I got there, so lunch seemed like a plausible means to kill the thirty minutes, and there just so happened to be a Brother’s Pizza (as in hand-tossed by scruffy-looking guy of Italian descent – though he may have been Hispanic for all I know) just across the street from the brew shop.  I dropped in and ordered one.

Pizza consumed, brewing shop visited, I continued my journey, just to make a long story endless,  I headed back toward the interstate through Chambersburg and was stopped at a traffic light awaiting it to change; a lady crossed the street being led by an ugly dog, a very ugly dog.  Did you ever hear that at some point dog owners begin to assume an appearance much like their pets?  Bingo!  Both she and her dog were howlers and thus the source of this title.  This part of the post is over, ‘nough said and the end of this inane explanation.

The conference: I haven’t always enjoyed attending conferences where I had to stand in a booth for hours on end.  These things can be more than boring, and very quickly reach that point.  Time passes very, very slowly as you stand there pretending to be visible to an unseeing public.  The longer the conference the slower time passes, sort of like time-lapse photography, especially if the people passing by view you as invisible, and they do.  Fortunately, as a retired person working PT, I have nothing to lose by ignoring them back.

This time I didn’t get to ignore anyone.  The people came.  They still did not stop, but at least they saw me.  I was eye candy for the masses, and I had fun.  I must have had fun.  I weighed in this morning at home, as The Nancy and I do every Friday, and the scale shouted back letting me know I was 2.8 pounds heavier since my last confession just seven days ago. 

I should have known my waistline expansion was forthcoming as I consumed my entire mass in beer, loaded nachos saturated with a ton cheesy goodness and other junk, and several truckloads of French fries, all in a 48-hour period, and I enjoyed every morsel and drop and topped them all off with some of Milton Hershey’s finest. 

I have suddenly developed a sweet tooth.  Well, not really suddenly.  It has always been there, but prior to retirement I had a modicum of control over it.  Now, not so much, I have succumbed to weakness of the palate. 

I suppose the suddenly part is merely because I don’t care as much these days. At 68 I have no one to impress with my collection of abs (I only have one), my biceps have atrophied – one doesn’t need them for 12-ounce glasses of brewed delights – and jalapenos don’t stink up your breath like garlic.

The moral of this part of the story is simply this; I should have stuck to ugly women and dogs.

And that I all I have to say about that…

 
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