It was a good week for us. We’ve been the workout couple. Joy’s been putting in a number of double or triple workouts. She’s been weeding, shopping, and fixing great dinners. Boy having her off in the summers sure is tough on me. After more than 14 hours of exercise this week, it was a little tough to overcome the severe pinpoint gravitational suck of the couch, which has the tendency to stick my sorry post workout ass to the spot. I’ve been trying to use cold Corona’s to counteract the phenomenon to little affect. It seems I hit the couch and turn on the Tour de France and the adhesive like vortex renders me immobile for several hours. This week I’m going to try more limes in my beer. I’m convinced the extra fruit in my diet will make me the efficient dutiful husband my wife has always desired.
Saturday I got a few errands done, I’ll not bore you with the details, but suffice it to say I had to redeem myself a little so I didn’t look like a completely worthless slob in comparison to my hyperactive wife. Joy thinks the trick was to do the errands and home maintenance chores before the workout. Personally, I still think the order I did them had no affect. I’m sticking to the more fruit in my beer theory.
Later Saturday we were to rendezvous for a swim at the local club after a 1 ½ hour bike ride. It was raining a little off and on, but it was warm. I decided to go a little longer than the 25 miles I’d planned. I figured I’d cut the swim a little short. My extended route, however, was a tad longer than I thought. It ended up being 43 miles. When I got to the club there was no one in the parking lot. They were closed for their annual staff picnic. Joy had been waiting for me in the parking lot for 1 ½ hours before she had given up and had gone home to worry about me and try and figure out what route I might have taken to see what ditch she should be looking in.
You might be thinking to yourself, “what a stinking little weasel.” That would be an uncanny coincidence, for while I was biking I actually found a stinking little weasel lying inert in the middle of the road. Most of you would have wheeled right by the little feller without as much as a second thought. I, however being somewhat strong of leg but addled in mind, thought . . . Wow, Cool! I’d better do a quick 180 and check this out. I was thrilled to find he was FRESH. Lucky for him I found his dead little carcass before some big truck had squished him into road pizza and ruined him. I did blow into his face a couple of times in a feeble attempt at weasel CPR. Then I poked him a couple times to make sure he wouldn’t revive in the back pocket of my cycling jersey. I was sure that would be a bad thing.
Call me a romantic, but I knew bringing home a stinking little weasel would redeem me in my wives eyes after causing her all that worry. So just when Joy was about to say, “Where in the Hell have you been!” I could pop out my prize and she’d forget all about my poor route planning and lack of a phone call.
When I finally limped on home and sprung my little surprise on her, she just looked at me funny and said, “You, my friend, are a weird sick puppy.” Sick Puppy is one of the many endearing pet names she has for me. So I knew I was OK and my plan had worked to perfection!
Now that I’ve convinced you all that my last bike crash has knocked me half a bubble out of level, Joy came close to matching me by yelling, “Hey take a picture of your weasel before you do anything with him. The thing I was about to do was to skin him out and add his hide to my little collection of mole pelts I’ve been collecting. He’s going to make a nice racing stripe down the middle of my moleskin hat.
Being the dutiful husband, I took the picture. Rather that a cold post mortem autopsy type picture I let my creative juices (well maybe just juice) flow. A few little props, a couple of rubber bands and the chicken hat off an M&M dispenser and behold, a work of art from the Sick Puppy himself.
And some of you think I just make this stuff up?
