I got out of the truck, worked up some courage and approached the scary looking bald-on-top, hair-to-his-waist-in-the-back redhead. "How are you today?" I asked.
He slowly turned, revealing a reddened, puffy face, eyes like slits and a snaggle toothed shit eatin' grin. He lifted his hands to the sky, spread his arms wide and turned his face toward the mountain. Either he was having a religious experience or he was totally roasted.
Maybe I'm being all Judgey McSnootypants but I'm pretty sure he was wasted.
I excused myself and left. I saw him again at lunch today, already nursing a beer, so I decided The Universe was trying to tell me to put on my big girl panties and fix it myself. I had myself worked up to it before I left the office, but then I stopped at the dolla store. Inside, the stench of raw sewage was wafting up and down the aisles. They're on my street. I bet it's everyone. By the time I got home, I'd convinced myself that:
- I'm too tired
- I already feel like crap on a cracker. I won't elaborate too much, I'll just say that at a certain age, the regularity of one's body's proof of it's ability to breed becomes a royal pain in the ass.
- #2 leads to #1
- It's too much to tackle after work. I can get T.A. to help me after she gets off at the library tomorrow.
Is there a flangey doohickey where our pipe feeds in to the main town line?
This is going to be ugly. I can feel it.
Pray for me. Burn some sage. Dance nekkid in the moonlight around a bonfire and chant whatever the hell you need to in my name.
Tomorrow.. I'm going in.