This is our Christmas decoration.
The star painting has the word “sweater” on it. I ask Mo what it means. She shrugs, in that way suggesting that if I need to ask I don’t deserve to know. I get that shrug a lot.
I ran the neighborhood loop today, the first time in a long time after the string of dog encounters. They were all behind their little fences today. One large pit bull gave me the Stink Eye through the fence. I would see him mentally plotting. I totally chickened out after a mile.
I asked Mo after the run if she could get some Mace this evening (she’s off today.) She shrugged, in that way that suggests she probably will but I better never take her for granted.
The neighborhood loop may end up being the best running place after all. Beats me. Almost three years here and I still haven’t found a home. Maybe that’s a sign. Or maybe I’m just weird.
Mo’s back from five days in Seattle. BK is finally back to normal (honest, I didn’t know I was supposed to feed her.) Life is warm and happy. I’m a lucky guy.
I tell her I like my soda the way I like my women: Warm and fuzzy. She says I shouldn’t post that on the blog because people might read it wrong. So there you go.
I lament the gloomy day. Mo shrugs and says that if you want to see the sun in Seattle, you have to order out for it. I have no idea what that means, but it makes me smile.
I know I’ve got it pretty good. And pretty bad.
But mostly, I have no idea what “sweater” means.
Best to keep a little mystery in life …