Have you ever had one of those weekends when you took everything in stride?
Lolled around on Saturday morning, until the mood hit?
Got dressed, went shopping and strolled around the market, in a grand funk?
Took the long way home and stopped at a local pub?
Ran into a crazed lunatic who claimed he was the horse whisperer?
When he finally departed, ordered 3 doubles, to get back to normality?
Thawed out the jumbo shrimp and realized it was not jumbo, but gigantic?
And then realized those were not my shrimp?
Who is home tonight, wondering where the hell the shrimp is?
Should I sit on the deck and enjoy these last few days of summer?
Good thing I picked up a case of beer.
It’s hot out there.
Oh no. I forgot I put a beer in the freezer.
It is frozen.
I popped it open, only to witness a frothy liquid, spilling all over my pajamas.
That’s right. I didn’t get dressed.
It tastes ok.
I wonder: Does beer get strange when it is frozen?
Or is it only me?
The little league world series is on TV. Geez, what a wild game.
And it is only the second inning.
I decide to take my frozen concoction and head outside.
The pony next door is sneaking under the fence.
Hey, buddy? Want a carrot? Or an apple? Or a frozen beer?
A cricket jumps on my lap.
A brown butterfly lands on my arm.
An orange cat crawls up beside me.
Hey, wait. I know that cat.
He lives with me.
Excuse me, I live with him.
Such a leisurely weekend.
Can life get better than this?
I doubt it.