I stood on the deck of my boat with a fog bank just
ahead. It seemed to be thicker than a swarm
of flies at a wake. My boating skills
not exactly noteworthy, I began to panic, like a one-armed man trying to separate
eggs. My hands were on the wheel, my
heart in my throat and my goodness how did I get myself into this mess?
I decided I just wouldn’t take the boat out today, so I stepped back onto the dock and walked back up to the diner. I knew the short-order cook was on duty and what I wanted for breakfast wasn’t much. My order indeed would be short.
It was just a greasy spoon, but I sent it back anyway and asked for a clean one. As the waitress brought my glass of water I noticed she was holding the glass from the top edge, her fingers draped over the lip. That was one of my pet peeves. It was the same waitress that had just made the trip back to the kitchen with my dirty spoon, so when I complained about her grubby mitts being all around the drinking portion, she pulled out something from her apron pocket, tossed it onto the table and said; “That’s the last straw.”
The lawn guy showed up yesterday and sprayed for pests.
I thought I stood far enough away to be unaffected by the chemicals
but after reading what I just wrote above, I think I better stop here
and maybe have some coffee. Hopefully I won't get the same waitress.
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