stoutfellow

The weekend continues to be memorable. In deference to those who would avoid descriptions of TMStupidity, I'll put this under a cut.

I will tell you something I don't think I've mentioned. I have remarkably good reflexes, in certain respects. This is not necessarily a good thing. In my younger days, playing volleyball, I could get my hand under a loose ball under the worst of circumstances; this usually entailed considerable pain, and rarely did any good. Or, for a different example: once, in my Chicago days, I was in a bar with some friends. In the course of an animated discussion, I knocked over my cup of beer. I lunged and caught the beer before it hit the floor. Note, please, that I did not catch the cup; I caught the beer, on my shirtsleeve. This, of course, did me no good, although I suppose the janitor benefited.

This afternoon, I dined on another Marie Callendar fettucini dish (better designed than the last one, in my view). I did so in my customary middle-aged-bachelor fashion, standing in the kitchen; the dish was perched atop the revolving spice-rack my sister C gave me so many years ago. I was also, with my other hand, reading Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys, and occasionally sipping from a two-liter bottle of Barq's. As I ate, of course, the distribution of mass in the dish shifted, and ultimately the center of gravity slipped beyond the edge of the spice rack.

It is fortunate that the fettucini was no longer hot; fortunate, too, that there wasn't a whole lot of it left. I will say no more about the fate of the fettucini, except to say that my reflexes once again proved themselves; a little of the sauce reached the floor, but none of the noodles, chicken, or broccoli.

Did I mention that I was wearing nothing but my skivvies?

In other news, after I finished the meal, I put the dish down for the dogs to lick. Murphy quickly took command, carrying it off. A few minutes later, I heard him barking in distress. While pursuing the dish, he had managed to get himself into a narrow spot, in between a (never-used) exercise machine and the Radio Flyer. Murphy has a rather wide turning radius, and could not get out - until, that is, I took hold of the handle of the Flyer, in order to move it away. He found new reserves of mobility at that moment....

So glad this weekend's almost over.