Do I hold a grudge? No, I don't. I'm willing to make Jimmy the Cat's bee toy famous even though he defiled my clothing this morning.
Yeah, I'm at standing at the mirror at Braveheart's house, putting in my contacts when I realize my left calf pant-leg is wet. What tha? It must have been fresh enough (read that: warm enough) when I put my jeans on that I didn't notice it.
Braveheart's other houseguest (yes, she's hospitable) offers to sniff it for me.
"No. I don't want to know. I can't do anything about it."
Yes, readers, I am wearing the same jeans to work on Monday that I wore to the concert the night before. They were clean. Pre-Jimmy. [Whose name has not been changed, guilty little bugger that he is.]
Thank goodness for whatever nature-scent thing Braveheart sprayed on my pants.
Along the way. I always think it must feel pretty cool to be one of these surveyor guys, standing in the middle of a busy street doing your job.
Except when it feels life threatening.
Couldn't resist this shot, in Hollywood (somewhere along Highland, I think). Gee, I'm glad we don't live in the scary Middle East, like the people in The Kingdom.
