Rocky, the ancient brown lab, is visiting, sacked out on one of my best blankets basking in it, while I read aloud, something I wrote. He keeps passing wind, so I’m assuming, that means it needs a rewrite.
He’s so old, I suggested to his master, a cute, 30 year-old living on 8, perhaps he should bring along some oxygen, just to have Rocky sit up as if to say, hey, I still have a few moves left, thank you very much.
It does feel like Florida outside, the doorman whistling, passersby smiling. No wonder birds, Jews and the elderly go south, another reason I want to be Jewish, or at least a crow, since they only wear basic black.
I actually wore shorts running this morning, my legs feeling like Betty Grable’s, free of their normal four layers.
Of course, like any warm winter getaway, it will end, since the cold is about to return.
It even poured earlier, clearing away last week’s snow, so now I can trade in my muckers for a nice, sexy pair’a flats.
What did you say Rocky…what are muckers? It’s a fancy Connecticut term for boots…ya know, for mucking out the stables.
I see you’re shaking your head. Okay, so I’m being a bit grand, but do you think, you could possibly stop farting, because I’m running out of matches.