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we could expect snow,
and enough of it for
the ski resorts to enjoy
a lucrative Thanksgiving.
Scott went off again.
Just @!$%#@! perfect,
with the Jeep in the shop
and the Subaru needing tires.
November snow!
Ca
n you imagine a worse omen?
Omens! Great!
I wasn’t about to try and dissuade
the Powers-That-Be.
I still needed answers, however.
I picked up the phone, went into
my room, and made a few calls.
The first was to Dad. Not sure why.
Got his answering machine:
Me and Linda Sue were feeling
blue, so we went to Mexico.
Leave your number.
I’m getting a hummer.
Linda Sue? Was she from Kentucky?
No doubt “Miss Louisville” paid for their trip.
But did the world have to know they had oral sex?
And who made Dad a (very bad) poet?
On a crazy whim, I called Adam next.
Guess who was whining in the background.
Kristina? [Momento, Lince. I’ll be right there.]
