“Sunday evening.  So sorry, Wolf. Guess what tomorrow is?”

“Don’t be a goof, Minnie.  Yes, tomorrow is Monday.  So what?”

“It’s supposed to be a rainy day.  You have been known to say rainy days and Mondays always get you down.”

“I say a lot of crazy things. I can’t help it.  It’s my nature.  However, for once, I welcome the rain.  The grass is getting crunchy.”

“Did you use your weekend wisely, Wolf?”

“What the hell?  Of course not. I did what I felt like doing.  That’s the beauty of a weekend.”

“Don’t you think you should be out in the yard, planting flowers, mulching and mowing?”

“You are joking, right?  I had my hands full, going shopping, and frying chicken all afternoon.  The damn chicken exhausted me.”

“It must be so sad to get old.”

“Yeah. So sad not out in the yard, shoveling mulch around in the heat and humidity.  So sorry, no tomatoes on the vine, this year.  Just hanging around, in the house, in my old age, frying chicken and enjoying the heck out of it.”

“You could just buy fried chicken.”

“Yup.  And I could just buy flowers and tomatoes.  Maybe, just maybe, when I retire, and I don’t have to wait for a weekend to do what I want, I will get a puppy and plant a pumpkin.”

“Why not now?”

“The cats, Minnie.  You know they would never put up with a dog, those vicious beasts.”

“Well then, the pumpkin.”

“No, the squirrels and rabbits, Minnie.  You know they would eat the seeds.  Look what they did to the 300 tulips I planted.”

“Do you have any of that fried chicken left, Wolf?  I am hungry.”

“Help yourself, Minnie.  It is the best damn fried buttermilk chicken in the universe. So good, in fact, that the cats are crazy about it. Good luck trying to eat it by yourself.”

“Are you using the cats as an excuse not to do anything productive, Wolf?  Are they your new scape goats?”

“Excuse me, but have you looked outside,  Minnie?  Torrential rain, hail and high winds.  Are the cats in?”

“Yes, they are, and when I went to look outside, they ate my fried chicken.”

 

Wolf

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