Fighting in the cage
Used to be, if you wanted to watch people “beating” on one another, you tuned in the hockey match. Or, for something really different, an afternoon of roller derby. In this new century (if I can use the habits of family members), the spectator evening of choice involves something called UFC. Not to be confused with KFC, which doesn’t like to be watched.
Something about people in cages, according to the little I can learn. The participants ask to be put in (if you can figure that one), and they physically fight to remain in the cage, or octogon, or small schoolyard. I can’t learn much more, because you have to pay money to watch. Strange how times have changed.
Took my beloved coffee machine to the local service depot. Early. There before the gates were stowed away. Not desperate; yet. When the estimate is phoned over in the first part of the week, I hope the price is fair. If not, I’ll be ordering a new one. Some appliances are necessary.
We were surrogate dog people this afternoon and evening. The little cocker spaniel that dances in my son’s kitchen came over for a change of scenery. Yes, I felt “loved”. Small dog, so letting her stand on my chest while I tried to alternately watch TV and read an ebook wasn’t too stressful. And she didn’t dance until I packed up her blanket and load of squeakies at the end of the visit. Guess that we aren’t as “loved” as her real housemates. Maybe, next time, I’ll try bribery with cheese…
