Birkenstocks and Armpit Spiders

This blogging thing is more difficult than I gave it credit. I suppose you're expecting me to write in great detail about my adventures trying to get Clarence to eat those bloody horse pills Dr. Autte gave me. Or more excitingly, how I had to wear rubber gloves and apply a topical ointment to Clarence's inflamed backside. This would be where I insert the obligatory "Ring of Fire" joke and sing Johnny Cash mariachi songs.

But I won't.

You know why? Because I don't want to. That and I'm still kind of disturbed by the image of my finger disappearing into my cat's anus (the incorrect way to apply the cream). Actually what creeped me out was the noise he made. It really sounded like "Whoooooah!"

I'm also still trying to recover from last night movie extravaganza. Keira Knightley was great in those Pirate movies ... but having to sit through Atonement while Margaret sat enraptured was almost too much. I was also out of beer - I'd run out of Kilkenny (it's a beer I got into during my South Park phase ... don't ask) so I watched it sober.

Today while Norton was over to mow the lawn I decided to bugger off and grab a coffee at the little place down the street. There was a new girl serving coffee I'd not seen before. She was wearing a name tag that said "Hi, I'm Cindi" and she'd drawn red hearts over each "i". She was wearing a tank top, and had enough ink on her to make Tommy Lee feel naked. She crossed her arms, and armpit hair was creeping out like spider legs. I couldn't help myself, I looked her over, and sure enough, she was wearing a pair of Birkenstocks. A part of me wanted to look outside and see where she'd park the Volkswagen van.

I gave myself a mental smack on the wrist - no need to be judgmental. I walked up to the counter and ordered a coffee. Cindi just stood there smiling at me. Then she did an odd thing, she reached over and took my hand and looked me in the eye and said, "Can I read your palm?"

Too surprised to answer, she turned my hand over and ran her finger along some of my palm lines. She cocked her head to the side, looked at my other hand, and then abruptly let go, washed her hands and then got me my coffee.

When she came back she said, "You might want to wear a second pair of gloves next time ..."

I took my coffee and sat at a window seat. A few minutes later Norton strolled by looking oddly satisfied.

It was one of those days.