Yesterday’s conversation at Curmudgeon Compound:
Me: “I stopped to fuel up the truck and it was chaos. Cars, trucks, all sorts of people acting like nimrods in heat. It was like opening day of deer season but with fewer rifles. The weather looks clear so I’m not sure what had everyone stirred up.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “It’s Superbowl Sunday.”
Me: “That explains it! A run on cheap beer and fritos at the last minute. Whew… I though maybe another storm was coming.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “You didn’t think to talk to anyone? Maybe ask what’s up?”
Me: “Nope, I swiped my card at the pump and got outta’ there. Why hang around a crowd trying to figure out the news? Better to flee before some chimp on a beer run dents my truck.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “You and the truck; it could have been the impending zombie apocalypse and you’d miss it.”
Me: “Is that a bad thing to miss?”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: (Changing the subject.) “We didn’t get invited to a Superbowl party this year but I got invited to an Oscar’s party next month.”
Me: “‘No’ to football and ‘Yes’ to Hollywood? Apparently I’m gay.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “You aren’t but my friends are, and you’re not invited Sasquatch. Call ’em and ask for an invite after you learn to rock a tux.”
(I glanced down at my clothes. I was wearing overalls.)
Me: “Maybe I’m just unpopular?”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “That’s what happens when you’re an isolationist.”
Me: “I’m comfortable with that. You enjoy the party and I’ll stay home. I might read.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “Pick a book without zombies for once.”
Me: (Imagining a perfect evening of doing absolutely nothing; sipping a glass of whiskey, dog snoozing at my feet, a recliner by the fire… I was already deciding which book I should read.) “I’ve got a book about that Somali Pirate event a few years ago. I’ll read that.”
Mrs. Curmudgeon: “That’s a movie; ‘Captain Phillips’. It might win an Academy Award.”
Me: (Makes a sound exactly like Lurch from the Addams Family.)