I’ve been shot again
I’ve been shot, but it is barely a flesh wound. Grammar is odd; saying that I am getting a shot is not at all like I’m getting shot, even if both involve a puncture wound. It must be a question of degree. My yearly visit to the family doctor took the requisite four minutes and left me prepared for another winter of not missing work. Quite a deal for the employers of this world.
The whole concept is a bit iffy; I’ve received an immunization against one version of influenza from last year. Hence, through the miracle of evolution (or lack thereof), when I come into contact with a vagrant virus, my antibody guys will already have a clue about defense. Much like football, where the teams change, the coach stays, and the championship remains a “distinct possibility”. As proof of the fallibility, the Rouge et Or did not win. Neither did the Huskies, because they bowed before the Bison last evening during a game that was telecast after the fact. I didn’t stay up.
Enough about bugs and balls. I’ve replaced my sneakers. That doesn’t happen every year, because me feet haven’t grown in ages. I schlep around in my cheapies until they don’t keep me warm and dry any more. This year, I even tried ShoeGoo to keep the rising waters at bay, but finally the snow came and made the problem go away. I’m planning for next spring already, so I spent the fifteen minute waiting period after my shooting incident by shopping for shoes. Ample time; I know my size, I know my colour tolerances and I know my price range. The little clerk in the shoestore rarely has such a simple sale. That one. Yes. Bye.
While at groceries, I was offered a “free calendar” which I politely declined. I mentioned to the bagger that it probably had “the same days as last year”. He stopped, thought for a moment and then replied “It does? Can that happen?” Be very, very afraid.
