Curmudgeon

So here we are, early Deciembre, my least favorite holiday in the offing (mmm no, my least favorite holiday is Columbus Day, but as our commander in chief likes to say, "Irregardless") and it's been raining for two days straight. 

I'm not kidding.  Two consecutive days of rain here is a once-yearly occurence at most.  Couldn't play golf.  Took an umbrella to get the christmas tree.  I'm in my traditional funk, cubed.  Worked in the office while Herself hung decorations hither and yon, trimmed the tree, strung the lights, baked the Kringlas.

She's making comments about personal cleanliness.  Implying that someone who misses a shower and doesn't shave is not going to get to the bonus round of Naughty Diabetes Educator, my favorite game that doesn't involve a ball.  (But then again, oh never mind (a chorus of EEEeewwwwwws goes up similtaneously in East Mesa and in Virginia)).

Implying, hell.  She's got me classified as, ,,,,, I don't know, UnPleasant.  Hmmpf.  I finally come downstairs for ESPN Sunday night football and she says, Do you mind if I go to the casino for a bit?  Whoa.  Terra Incognita.  Good news: I dont' have to go.  Bad news: I wasn't invited. 

Of course I dont' mind, says I. 

She's gone now.  I've showered and shaved, mostly.  I'll bet she'll be crazy for my new and novel plan for facial hair adornment.  Tay stuned.