Today, while watching some coworkers of mine play ballsports outside, the top of my head got sunburned. I had put sunscreen on my part, but it is always hard to be sure nothing untoward will happen, and the fact of the burn made me suddenly and completely angry at the sun.
The step after the run-aways is usually the smash-everythings, and it makes me glad that almost everyone is window shopping around here lately. I am too expensive to buy right now, and would probably void my warranty almost immediately just to spite you. Even I can't say for sure what I'm going to do next right now, not with the angry robot still largely in control.
But then Manuel invited me over for a beer or three. (From where I finally retrieved my suit! Mike Whybark wins person of the year, mostly for just existing, but also for passing along a beautiful vintage suit that I plan on figuring out where to wear posthaste.) If you don't have a Manuel in your life I advise getting one immediately, because he is the sort of person who, if you say, "I'm going home now, but on my way home I'm going to stop at the swings. Want to come?" will come with you and race on the swings and climb things and slide slides.
Which is just what happened, all of the swinging and sliding and laying in the grass, and it's pretty much impossible to keep hold of the smash-everythings when all the swings remind you of is hot nights at parks in high school, of boys you once knew, of hills you once kissed on.
No comments:
Post a Comment