a tale of two shoes: a picture that supports no text

 

wellies

Monday I came home from work to find Miss Carlos looking dejected and slightly frozen. The temperature had unexpectedly dropped (probably not unexpected to those paying attention).  Poor dear I thought as I went over to the thermostat to crank start the heat. Usually when I do this a sound emits from my vents that I attribute to the infidels down in Hell (my basement). I see sweaty ne’er-do-wells riding furiously on stationary bicylces linked together with rusty, heavy chains and with each rotation of the wheels a lone piece of coal lands into the fiery furnace.  I won’t name names, but most of these wankers have either lied about being single or have shown up 3 hours late to dinner, sporting a fantastic pot buzz. I guess there was a revolution on Monday. Or they starved (though I’ve seen plenty of plump crickets down there!) No heat. Nothing. And the temperature was falling well into the 20s. Luckily I had stopped at the market and had some cold, raw fish in the form of sushi to dive into and keep my belly warm. The irony. Tried in vain to work on this going-absolutely-nowhere blog, but my frigid fingers could not keep pace with my thoughts (and that’s an absolute fright). So I drew a hot bath, scalded my toes, and finished the book FAT BALD JEFF. It was a gift from one of my favorite co-workers. I’m not sure yet how I feel about giving reviews here, but the book was a nice distraction from the fact that my house plans are stuck in a worse purgatory than the infidels in my basement and that my dating life right now could earn me a gold medal in opposable thumb agility (curse that texting machine!) Bed was the only option at this point and I climbed in wearing a nun’s worth of layers on my body and nearly suffocated under the weight of my bedding. I told Carlos not to complain, that she is made of fur for fuck’s sake, and to stay close and keep me warm.

Morning was meaner. Cold. My hair was cruelly mishapen like I had had passionate sex when I had only had nightmares of having to eat frozen bodies on top of the Andes Mountains in order to survive. At least I knew that I would temporarily feel warmth from the shower, though the stepping out. . .I only use my hair dryer 3 to 4 times a year, but as the temperature was hanging gleefully tight at 26 degrees I decided to break it out and dust if off. Blew the circuit. Stood in the dark. Wondered to whom had I caused bodily harm recently? Hadn’t I just thrown a dollar bill into the Salvation Army bucket outside the Merc last eve when buying my cold, dead fish?

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