Some Days Are Just Like That.
I jumped in the golf cart to ride to my bridge date just a mile and a half away. Zipping around the corner to the boulevard, the sun shining above me and joy in my bones because I love bridge and my bridge mates. Zip turned into slow discharge. The battery decided to die. With about a mile walk ahead and only three minutes to start time, what were my alternatives? Leave the cart on the boulevard and walk? Security won’t be happy with that. Oh no! I only have three % of the charge on my phone left. Luckily Robert answered quickly. He agreed to pick me up and get me to bridge on time. He would handle it as he always seems to do. But how? He had a doctor’s appointment within the hour.
Lady luck was not on my side with the cards this day either. Not a royal card nor an ace seemed to find my hand the whole afternoon. Best to forget that and get on with the one task I had to do when I arrived home. We had a trip planned, so I had to get on the phone and make arrangements for Olivia at the Grand Paw. Six weeks before Memorial Day weekend—I should have no problem, but I’d better do it before they close. You guessed it. I was too late. Their week was filled—no room in the inn for Olivia. I was dumbfounded.
I indeed needed to relax with a warm, delicious cup of coffee. The machine shouted at me, “Empty the grounds!” I obeyed, but it refused to accept the basket back into place. It would not budge. What else could happen? Well, The clock struck five, and yes, it was wine time.
As I picked up the glass for that first taste of cabernet, the glass slipped out of my hand to the unforgiving tile floor. While red wine flowed all over, Olivia seized the opportunity to taste. I grabbed her by the collar to prevent her tongue from testing the glass. Acting quickly, I touted her into the laundry room and picked up the hugest towel I could find to cover the mess in the kitchen. Olivia secured behind the laundry do, and I am now ready to attack the muddle. The towel proved to be an easy fix. It absorbed the liquid and gathered the glass.
My hero arrives over this tearful bent-over body, sweeps up the towel, mops up the floor, and pours me another glass of wine—a soulful way to end this day.
If you have had a similar day, or perhaps not so similar, send me an email, and perhaps you will see your day here the next time you open this blog.
Contact the author at email@example.com