Humor

I committed one of the seven deadly sins last week. Truth is, I don’t even know what the seven deadly sins are. But based on April’s reaction, the sin I committed must be number one of all the deadly sins.
It was a Friday night, and we had decided to go out ‘and paint the town red.’ That means a reckless night of debauchery, which neither of us is capable of. So we settled on a vigorous attempt to ‘paint the town magenta.’

She’s not only wanting to cure my sore throat, she wants to turn it into a smooth-operating Panama Canal.

When playing with younger players and one of them says something like, “That’s tough luck,” after you make a ridiculously bad throw, be ready for that. In your best snarly and gravel-laden voice, say something like, “You think this is tough? Iwo Jima was tough.”

Everything sorta went south after that. All the way to Antarctica. You can’t get more south than that. For another year, my Olympic standing as the worst gift-giver ever remained intact. The silver lining, perhaps?

It was Christmas Eve in 1983. Approximately 9:00 PM. Finally, the time to Christmas shop had arrived. That particular year I focused on Shopko as my store. I planned to buy April shimmery, satiny sleepwear. We’ll leave it at that, but that decision started me on the path to one of my first theoretical Olympic gold medals.

Then panic struck me. The last stray dog that showed up on our doorsteps soon gifted us with eight puppies. And April had used the word ‘she.’ Three times. This had ballooned into a colossal emergency. Pregnancy was once again in the picture. I took a deep breath.

Even though the two pups will eventually enjoy a walk of their own, their combined memory bank must be the size of lint. This explains why, as soon as April starts down the road, Dodger and Scout burst into maniacal, incessant barking. Since they make no attempt to harmonize, I find it irritating.