The pool where I live is supposed to open at 10 a.m. This morning at 10:20 a.m., I suited up for a refreshing dip in the crystal blue chlorine, flip-flopped down to the pool and . . . . locked!
Good Idea 37
When I told 37 the pool gate was locked, he suggested I march back down there and pull harder on the darn thing. That 37, always thinkin’!
Turns Out I’m a 99-Pound Weakling; Give or Take 20 Pounds (Mostly Give)
So I march back down to the pool gate and pull harder and harder, shake it back and forth 20 or so times, lay some good swift kicks on it, and finally attempt to pull mightily enough to break the lock (which I would have blamed on 37) but-; nothin’.
I Sadly Flip-Flopped Home Tom Dooley Style
Since I wasn’t going to be getting any swimming in, I decided, instead, to take Cha, my neurotic toupee with big brown eyes for a walk. But I vowed that if I saw the landlady, I would certainly give her a piece of my mind.
That is Until I got Stingy
Now, I don’t want to say how old I am, but I’m sitting atop a mighty tall pile of days — 21,352 to be exact. That is, if 37′s calculations are correct, and I’m sure they are since 37 is an engineer and lives in an Engineer’s World where 2 + 2 = 4 and “ish” does not exist.
My Iffy Lifestyle
Anyway, being 21,352 days old means I’m fast approaching “Iffy” on the Living Spectrum Chart. I wouldn’t say I was borderline elderly, but I would say I’m on the borderline of approaching the borderline of elderly.
My Landlady Owes Me!
My point is I can’t afford to give my landlady a piece of my mind because, at my advanced age, I need all the mind I have and then some. If anything SHE should be giving ME a piece of HER mind.
After all, SHE’S the one who forgot to open the pool.
Until next time . . . I love you