Wrapped Up Like A Douche, A Nutter Butter In The Night!*

dreamstime_s_55907Last week I talked about time passing me by and now this week I discover that I’m a doddering old fart. Things don’t make the sense they should anymore.

You see, Muffin was at the trailer (for five glorious, silent, peaceful days… don’t tell her that). She was due home Tuesday afternoon and since I, uh, missed her, I thought I’d pick up some stuff and make her supper … albeit a man meal of steak, hash browns and corn niblets. I picked up a few things then went to the meat department. Normally I just walk past the cut meats and go to the sausage/ hot dog/ bacon section, but this time I stopped to look for pork chops. Well, I was amazed the pork section was very small and sparse. There were no rib chops so I stepped over to the beef section for a nice rib steak instead. As I positioned myself to ogle the alluring beef cuts laying in cool, seductive repose, my eye was captured by a particularly charming roast, bashfully secluded towards the back of the shelf. I cast a loving glance at her and stooped closer to leer at her meaty goodness. She was nicely shaped but could have been fatter. My eyes skimmed across her price sticker and I jumped back in horror. This coy little roast wanted $38.86 for her flavours! This was no shy little piece of meat – she was a calculating strumpet trying to pick my pocket. I snorted disapproval and indignantly averted my eyes to the upper steak-laden shelf hoping the little roast felt my scorn. I picked up a cute little steak and debated if she could satisfy both Muffin and me. I looked at her price tag – $5.64! Now that’s more like it. For that price we could each have one. I found another for $5.90 and graciously decided that Muffin would get the bigger one. I know that roast floozy felt the coldness of my shoulder as I left with the two steak sisters in my cart.

Muffin arrived home and was pleased when I told her to just relax because I was making supper. She ruined my menu surprise when she mentioned that she saw the steaks in the fridge and commented, “$12.64 is a lot to pay for a steak, eh?” I said, “No, no, it was only $5.64 and the other one was $5.90.” She just said, “Uh, OK …” and nodded off for a nap. My mind cramped. Who was wrong? I went to the fridge and confidently pulled out that cute little steak and read … $12.64! I snatched the other beefy cutie from the fridge and she was … $12.90! WTF (What Tremendous Fun). This makes no sense; I know the prices were different at the store.

I had my eyes checked recently and got new glasses this spring so I was confident my eyesight was good. I KNEW I read $5.64 and $5.90 on those packages. I remember thinking that was more like a price should be. Then I thought of all the spelling mistakes I’ve been making recently and all of the things I misread. For example, I puzzle over the need for a Toronto Sock Exchange; I’m amazed to read I can get Free Chicken at the bank and I blush about the girl with the long black boobs. Things don’t make sense.

In addition to opining last week about time passing me by, I am now faced with creeping decrepitude. I’m not ready to get off this ride just yet, so what can I do: shuffle off to the sidelines with my fly open (which Muffin points out I do a lot lately anyway); just forge on and damn the torpedoes? It’s too much. I’ll just have a beer.

* Actual words “Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night”, from Manfred Mann’s version of Bruce Springsteen’s “Blinded By the Light.”

Yours in the Zone

© 2015 David Jones

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