It's an ill wind that blows no good - John Heywood, 1546
I had to go to the local hardware store this morning to get some rags to polish silver with. If you are throwing away any old t-shirts let me know. I always need soft rags.
Anyway I am standing in a long line, only two cashiers working and one of them was Tresa, the manager. People must have called in sick today, it's usually not that bad.
The salient question was, did I cough loud enough? Did I manage to seal the deal and obscure my wanton intestinal larceny?
I looked around quickly and did a cursory survey check both port and starboard on peoples' expressions, good, nary a smile or frown. A Flatulence Assessment in Real Time (FART), I think I got away with this one, just squeaked by, if I may coin a phrase.
Whew, did I jump the fetid shark, or what? Came close to not being able to return to the only decent hardware store in town lest I hang my head in shame. A real Drobkin moment. Is one lone cheeser an egregious enough offense to get one thrown off the team? Unfortunately, it is not a fair world that we live in. Too many sad calls of colonic distress have been met with nothing but humiliation and ridicule. One must keep a semblance of intestinal fartitude.
I guess I am going to have a lot to write about and look forward to. This one was touch and go. And the answer my friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind...