Post #19

I need a personal assistant...and not just because it would be cool.

I need one.

I'm on the road again...in a motel room. I'm pretty handy with these places. I know how to get all the lights on (if you think that's a snap you haven't stayed in many of these rooms)...know how to deal with fickle ac units...I can make an actual potable cup of coffee with the packets they leave for you on the bathroom sink.

What I can't do is pack for these trips. I'm just incapable of getting out of the house with everything I need. It's always something...razor, toothbrush, wallet...this morning it's grey socks.

I got a pair of pressed charcoal slacks and some brown socks. I know how it happened. I was wearin' tan britches when I packed yesterday...and packin clothes is just not the kinda thing that's ever gonna get my full attention. In the morning I look at my britches while I'm gettin' a pair of socks...simple. It works well for that day...not so well for the next.

I ended up buck naked from the waist down in a Walmart bathroom in Alabama once because of distracted packing. I had a pair of seersucker pants and had packed some RED boxers...that was a no go. Two things that don't work with seersucker pants...red boxers and going without. I didn't have a choice...I had to find some drawers and I didn't have time to go out and come back. I had a sales pitch to give in an hour. So, thirty minutes later, and thirty minutes before tryin' to sell 100 thousand dollars worth of software, I was standing in a Walmart bathroom puttin' on a fresh pair of boxers.

I gotta go find a pair of socks...pity I don't have somebody to send out for 'em.

Post #7

Seersucker pants, so I've been informed by a stylish woman who would know, are meant to be neutral...in other words, it's OK to wear a shirt that isn't blue or white with them.

I think it's a ploy by my wife to get me to wear this green shirt that she likes...cause I asked about a check shirt once, and the overall look on her face was one of amusment, but in her eyes I could see a twinkling desire to smack me for bein' a hassel.

I think the blogs turnin' out like that...I've gone out in public wearin' a checked shirt and seersucker pants..in October. She hasn't smacked me, but she has made some casual suggestions, in the way that only a wife can, about topics for the blog. "Now that" would be a good thing to write about kind of thing.

Do y'all really want to hear about my humiliation with a seven year old LSU fan on Sunday morning at Church?

Probably.

I thought I was gonna miss him. J.C. had the nursery so I went to the early service, and the little Tiger doesn't show up til 9:30 giving me just enough time to get clear of the place...except that I had forgotten to deliver some diaper boxes into the nursery (I'm still not clear on why I was asked to do this...but that's life as a husband)...took just long enough for me to be standing in the parking lot when his Momma's minivan pulled up.

Who knows how his tiny little face covered an entire window with teeth. He never said a word as he got out...just stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets grinin'. He was wearin' sandals. I coulda stomped on his toes, but we were in the Church parking lot...it just wasn't the place.

I'll catch 'im on the street eventually.