Its nothing, its so normal you Just stand there I could say so much But I dont go there cuz I dont want to I was thinking if you were lonely Maybe we could leave here and no one would know At least not to the point that we would think so -matchbox 20
The silver paper slipped off the second bottle like a wedding night gown falling to the floor, I stood breathless as I discovered a truly wonderful gift. . Glenfiddich!
I was sitting on my computer working my way through yesterdays blog when a knock came at the door. “Who the hell is that??”, I thought. I was still not even 8 am. As I opened the rickety old screen door a delivery guy held out a big brown box. I signed off on the box and wished him a happy holiday. Setting the box on the counter I grabbed an old kitchen knife from the cupboard and sliced the packing tape. I folded open the box to find two Silver packages with pretty red bows. “Ahhh”, I mused. “Liquid refreshment”. “Cool Beans!” I slipped the bow off bottle number one to find a tempting bottle of Jameson. Obviously the gift of someone who’s never seen me sitting by a symposium fire late into the night 3 sheets to a blended Irish wind. When I opened the second I was sure of one thing, “Someone’s trying to get me into trouble!!” In my best Old Irishman impersonation I said to myself, “Ach, the lord loves a woman who gives a man the gift of whisky”. I am truly blessed.
Late into the evening I received a phone call from my 20-something son, Julian. His car had turned in it’s cards and was now sitting at a British Petroleum station in Madison. Suddenly I was off once again to the city that’s been vexing me so much as of late. When we got back home it seemed as if there was no choice but to find the local. It seemed too soon that the blond young woman behind the bar was ushering us with a smile toward the door. You know the old saying, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here”.
And speaking of vexing. This morning I went back to read Wenley’s blog. Wenley unlike me, seems to need a cattle prod to keep the ladies at bay. I made a short comment regarding his burden. Wenley of course thought I might catch up to him soon. He weaved an image of my silly hide on a Caribbean beach with a bottle of Medalla and soft, thin waisted brunette. . Where does he get these ideas?? Although the thought of a brunette with deep green eyes did resonate somewhere in the back of my mind. (A male brain does that you know.) Of course I’m a bit more of a pirate. Unlike Wenley’s debonair James Bond-like persona, I tend tend to be a bit more scruffy. My wanderings tend to include a bottle of nice Puerto Rican Rum and the brunette would trade in the thong for a big white billowing cotton shirt and worn, well fitted leather trousers with Knee-high boots. Hmmm, maybe a few bottles of rum. “I think we’ll need a bigger boat!” Maybe a Menai 18?
Feeling a bit tired today. “”To sleep, perchance to dream. . .