jet lag

It was our last days of summer youth.  We'd recently graduated high school and had few obligations.  My good friend, Ingrid, would be off soon to onboard at West Point Military Academy.  I would soon be doing less rigorous things, but on that particular day, we were pretty carefree.

That summer after high school, Ingrid had wanted to "get in shape" for West Point and sort of recruited me to join her in pre boot-camp boot-camp.  Yeah, okay, why not?

We bicycled, we ran, we didn't drink any alcohol...

And we canoed.

Ingrid's neighbor friends had a good sized canoe they let us borrow whenever we wanted.  I drove an old pickup truck with room in the bed for the neighbor canoe, so a few days during the week, we would drive up to the reservoir and paddle around before I'd go off to my restaurant busgirl job.

We'd paddle out to the middle of the lake, boot-camp style, then languish in the sun, eating chips and drinking pop.  The pop and chips probably canceled out any benefit of the paddling, but it's good to have balance.

As often happens in Colorado summertime, a violent thunderstorm approached on that afternoon as we languished among our Doritos.  Seeing the dark clouds rolling in, we roused ourselves out of our sunbathed-and-monosodium-glutamate-induced lethargy, and took up our oars.

We were making good time getting back to shore, however, the lake surface began getting choppy, and we began floundering a bit.  The storm did not flounder but continued its relentless approach.

Motor boats - our companions on the lake that day - were zipping by toward shore as Ingrid and I paddled away in our suddenly realized slow, exposed craft.  I glanced to Ingrid behind me to see her determined look:  her face sweaty and focused, her hair wild in the wind and humidity.  I thought, "better her than me going off to West Point".

Dark clouds made it seem like it was almost nighttime even though it was mid-afternoon.  Would we make it back to shore before things got really crazy? 

But then, alas, a good sized waterski boat came up behind us, and I heard its engine slow.  It was driven by Jet, the high school football coach (yeah, he really went by "Jet").

"YOU GIRLS NEED A TOW BACK TO SHORE?", he called all masculinely in his typical shirtless presentation.  Maybe a slight smirk on his thickly mustached face.

And I was all, "Oh thank gawd, let's get the hell outta here", as raindrops began pelting.

But not before Ingrid raised her sweat stained wild haired head and replied, "NO, WE'RE GOOD".

I looked at Ingrid.  I looked at Jet. I resumed my fervored paddling.

Jet hit his throttle and left us to make our way back under our own power.  I glanced again back at Ingrid.

"That chauvinist pig isn't gonna be the one to save our asses!"

And with that, we saved our own asses.  

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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:

4. Write a blog post inspired by the word: flounder.

 
along with a little...
2. Tell us about a random act of kindness that you witnessed or were a part of.

since he DID stop to ask, and we actually did survive.

are men more organized than women?

It's amazon prime day, whacha buying?

I went to amazon this morning, looking for a purse/bag/satchel/whatever you call these things.  Shopped around, read some reviews, got some recommendations.  Finally, I ordered one.  

The bag I ultimately selected noted that it was rated a top selection for "murse" (man purse) and is in fact noted a "men's" bag in the description.  It looks very similar to other women's or unisex bags I considered, and actually, many of the reviews I read for it were from women glowing about the bag's positive attributes and noting how "it's great for women too!"

So, what makes it a men's bag?

The most notable difference - the one that sold me on it - is that it allows for wonderful organization:  more useful pockets and compartments, handy places for everything one typically carries around.  

There was a short video on the item page showing what I assume are man hands placing man things - wallet, phone, tablet, keys, pens, earphones - in various handy compartments. Not a tampon or bottle of Midol to be had, no mascara or lipstick, no romance novels. The bag could also easily accommodate these things, but apparently women just throw that stuff in a tote so they can upend the whole thing and sort through a pile when something is needed.

Don't women also carry money, phones, keys, pens, earphones, etc.?  Don't they also appreciate good organization? I do.  Am I doing something wrong?

Oh well, I ordered me a murse

In other news, one of my coworkers is quite crafty and has created a nice little income stream from her unique facemasks.  I'm not sure if she has an Etsy shop, but I remember going to Etsy early in the mask days and not being able to make a choice.  I remember thinking, "I wish I knew someone selling these things"

Wish granted!  Plus, she brings them into work for easy access.  Looky the cute bicycle mask she made for me:

I hadn't requested a bicycle mask specifically.  I knew she offers a variety of designs and told her I'd pick from whatever she had, but she made this thinking I'd like it, which I do!

How nice when sellers clearly consider the customer.  Says the woman who just bought herself a man purse.

of men and dry erase markers

We sat there, chatting, wondering what the strange impromptu meeting was about as others of our kind filtered into the room.  Eventually, all were present and the mystery would unfold.

Years ago, after college and before kids, I was an engineer at a large corporation in upstate New York.  At the time of the mystery meeting, I was working at a site that was specifically built for our team that was developing a family of new products.  There were about 100 to 120 of us there. 

This new facility was a "showcase" for the time.  The layout and design of upper management offices, cubicle areas, laboratories, etc. were well thought out.  Technically, we had plenty of the latest tools at our disposal. 

Another nice feature was whiteboards whiteboards whiteboards.  Everyone had a whiteboard in his/her cubicle.  There were whiteboards in the break areas.  Conference rooms had floor-to-ceiling whiteboard walls.  There were even whiteboards in all of the bathrooms... *dun dun duuuuhhhhn*

It was a nice assignment, morale was high, we were getting stuff done.  So it was strange, that morning, to have been beckoned by the chief engineer to this meeting of unspecified topic. The strangest part was - it was a meeting of only the womenfolk of the facility. 

There we sat in the cafe area, about 30 or so of us.  Our chief engineer was a friendly, very approachable guy.  He didn't waste time with small talk and seemed rather somber as he began to speak. 

He'd called us together that morning because he'd received complaint.  Or rather, he'd received word from his boss about a complaint from within our team. 

One of the women complained to higher ups about whiteboards in the men's bathrooms, so he was going to have all bathroom whiteboards removed.

"The whiteboards in the men's bathrooms enable the men to have secret meetings where women aren't allowed".

In my mind...

SOURCE

OMG, what?

The looks on the other faces mirrored what I was thinking.  My friend Jill, an electrical engineer sitting next to me, began to snort/gag/choke/ laugh as she was sipping a coffee when the explanation for the meeting was revealed.  

Many began to protest and explain that we didn't feel that way at all.  I, for one, got along great with my male coworkers - many of whom I'm still in touch with today.  This was silly and absurd.  Plus... we kinda liked having whiteboards in the bathrooms.  For one, it was an easy way to let maintenance know when something wasn't working.

Besides, if some guys want to have a secret meeting in a men's bathroom, the non-presence of a whiteboard wasn't gonna stop it!

Chief engineer quelled our protestations.  In part, we realized, because the complainer was sitting there among us, whoever she was!  Even he didn't know who had lodged the complaint.  He went on to say that he hoped that, if any of us had an issue with anything regarding our team or facilities, etc., that we feel free to speak with him about it.  Like I say, he was a real laid back, approachable guy.  He wore Buddha beads for heaven sake!

And that's how we lost our bathroom whiteboards.  

And of course all the men learned of it quickly because obviously they asked us why there was a women-only meeting, and we straight up told them.  It became a sort of running joke at the place, but not too blatant, because she-who-remained-unnamed could be listening.

A few years later, when we'd decided I would "retire" and become a stay-at-home mom, many coworkers understood and wished me well.  However, one (single) woman (with no kids) came and asked why?  Why didn't  I just take an extended leave?  She subtly tried to talk me out of leaving for good.

She became my prime suspect for Whiteboard Woman.  But it remains a true mystery to this day.

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Linking up with Mama Kat for the prompt:

1. A memorable day at work

title goes here

So most of us probably heard about the Rosetta spacecraft that landed on a comet 500 million (give or take) kilometers from earth last week?  It was truly an exciting accomplishment for space exploration and certainly for the team of scientists that pulled it off.

But did you hear about the *ahem* "shirtstorm" that erupted after one of the project scientists was interviewed while wearing a shirt adorned with artistic renditions of scantily clad, leather-bound, buxom women?  Ugh, I don't want to get into it, apparently things got pretty nasty - women lashing out at him, others lashing out at the women for lashing out at him... sigh.

I will say that (1) I don't have a big problem with the shirt, (2) I don't think it suggests that women aren't welcome in science fields, (3) I'm still impressed that he and colleagues landed a spacecraft on a freaking comet! BUT (4) he shoulda thought twice about what he was wearing for such a media event.  I understand he felt pretty bad about it afterward.

Years ago, I worked in a lab with three older guys and a couple of guys about my age.  One of the older guys had a couple of photos of random topless women at his desk in our open lab.  Once, I was directed to get some keys out of  a top desk drawer of one of the other older guys.  I opened said drawer and, HELLO naked girl!

But... that was those guys.  We actually had a fun work environment in that lab.  There were other women who regularly came into the lab for both work and socializing.  And I can honestly say that if there would've been any type of dangerous situation at work, those guys would've protected me before protecting themselves.  That was about 20 years ago.  Thinking about it now, I'm sure such "decorations" are not allowed.

So back to the scientist.  I feel bad that his accomplishment has been marred by his bad choice of clothing, even though it was - yes - his choice.  Maybe he could use his physics smarts to make a time machine to go back and wear a different shirt?

Today, I was going through a power point from one of my classes and noticed a typo.  There was an equation that used an "A" where there should've been a "T", and it could've been misleading since either an "A" or "T" was relevant to the equation.

I typed out a quick e-mail to my professor, noting the typo.  Before sending, I was thinking what I should put in the subject line.  "T and A" immediately came to mind, but LUCKILY I caught myself.  I don't know him that well!

Have you made a faux pas - fashion, e-mail, or otherwise - that you wish you could get a do-over for?

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the British are coming!

My Brit boyfriend is coming to visit.  You may have heard of him.  Henry Charles Albert David?  Better known as Prince Harry?

We've been carrying on for quite a while now.  I haven't mentioned him much here on the blog since I like to keep the whole affair on a low profile.  I mean, look at poor Kate.  Can't even have morning sickness in private.

But with him coming all the way out for a tryst, it's going to be difficult to keep things as hush-hush, so I thought I'd go ahead and spill.  I'd rather you hear it from me.

The media is reporting that he's coming out here for The Warrior Games, but that's just a ruse.  Don't believe it.

Still, I will play the role as American commoner so as not to arouse any suspicions.

His visit carries a   “strong central theme of supporting injured servicemen and women from both the UK and US armed forces”, and I'm sure that is also quite sincere.  In the meantime, we locals are preparing for the Royal visit.  Some comments I read regarding an article about proper Prince protocol included:

"Offer him a beer and say, "welcome to the Rockies, Harry!".

"As much as I kinda like Harry, this is the US. There is no protocol for royalty. I'd rather address him by his military rank than royal title. And I would encourage him to show me that same respect in return."

"We kicked their butts in 1776 and again in 1812 so I wouldn't have to bow or courtsey or whatever to any man"

"I'm sure I saw him at Hobby Lobby today twice.  I read later that he was in town.  I would bet $1,000 it was him!


But now you all know *wink* the truth behind his visit.  So in this case, what's written in AbbyNormal, stays in AbbyNormal.  (Not so much the case in Vegas).

• Would you go out of your way to meet British Royalty if they were in your town?  
• Do you think Royal protocol applies in the U.S.?  
• Was that him at Hobby Lobby??

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an update

I was on my fa(ebook page yesterday, just checking the usual goings on, in case I missed anything the last few days.  I don't really use fb much, but I keep my account so I can *monitor* the kids'.  Chaco got bored with it quite a while ago and deleted his, Meego has never had an account, Wolfgang's is even less active than mine.  

So, not much monitoring to do, but I keep my account for the usual:  certain news feeds, interesting links, long lost friends, occasionally surprising status updates.  I came across one such update yesterday.

"It took me a long time to decide to share this, but...", it began.  I had to slow down to make sure I was reading what I was reading.  

It went on to share the breast cancer diagnosis, the full mastectomy on Friday, the "hopefully caught early enough".  

This from someone I grew up with.  I remember going through elementary school, onto middle school, then high school.  We were both active in band and sports.  We lived in the same neighborhood.  In fact, I  remember the message sent when we first connected on fb:

"Hey, it's great to find the smartest and prettiest girl from the neighborhood!"

Yeah, flattery will get you everywhere.  I've mentioned here before about how I was pretty much the ONLY  girl in the neighborhood.  But that's Jim.

Yes, Jim's a guy.  

His status went on to say , "I am the 1%. The less than 1%. To get breast cancer.... So women and men get checked, be preventative..."

We go around usually thinking of breast cancer as a women's issue, that it's a "sisterhood" thing.  

Well, let's not forget our brothers.  
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the woodsman

I've stayed home today.  For a man.  With a man.

We've got this tree that we've decided needs to come down.  Earlier in the week, I screened some tree guys, and we decided which one to give the job to.  He's here today. 

Sometimes.

Now, this is a pretty big job involving a pretty big tree.  He's working alone - chainsaws, big limbs, etc...  I figured I'd stick around just in case something goes awry, even though he is "fully bonded and insured".  And that's all well and good, I've got some things that need doing around the house, and my tutoring schedule is free.

He showed up mid-morning and got himself situated amongst the trees.  I peeked out the window and saw him hack a few branches, and things were going well.  A few minutes later, I can still hear the chainsaw, but tree man is nowhere to be seen.  It was, frankly, a little surreal.

So I go outside, and I totally bust him taking out a stump at the neighbors'.  A stump! 

And I'm just, "Dan!" (his name is Dan), "Dan!  I thought that you were MY tree man!"  I'm so hurt, I can't hide my pain. 

He starts stumbling and stuttering a response.  "Ah, Abby, I'm sorry... he asked me to remove this stump for twenty bucks..."

"Twenty bucks?  Twenty BUCKS?!?  That's all it takes for you to totally abandon me like this?", I'm raw emotion now.  He is sheepish defined.

I break down further.  "Okay, Dan.  I know we haven't been together THAT long, but I just really need to know that I can trust you, okay?  I thought we'd bonded pretty well, and I really don't want to have to re-enter the fray and  start fresh, looking for another (tree) man."

He's all about the apologetic mumble.  I continue.

"... And *sniff*  I JUST broke up with the milkman *tears flowing now*  after many years, so I'm just really REALLY VULNERABLE right now!"

"You're right, you're right", he placates, "I.. I.. I'm so sorry"

So I soften a little, "Okay, I'm happy that you are so desired by my neighbors and all, but I just really NEED you to keep it in my yard right now, okay?"

"Yes, yes.  Of course.  I'm sorry".

So he's back on my property again.  Doing what he'd said he would do, when who should show up but Neighbor Flanders!  Now SHE'S got him cornered - literally up against his truck!  That woman has no shame, I swear.

I'm frustrated again.  It's been an hour and a half and there's been hardly ANY action!  Well, for ME anyways!

Eventually, she moves off, and tree man is mine once again. 

Then we enjoy about 2 hours of uninterrupted arborism.  It was nice, but then he needs to go, and I'm fine with that.

The tree still stands.  He says he'll be back in the morning.  For more wood.
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him

I only knew him for a short while, but I've remembered him for years.

I don't particularly remember our first meeting, I just remember that he began keeping me company.  That's the only way I can describe our "relationship".

I worked evenings as a hotel desk clerk, and during slow seasons I typically ran the desk by myself.  We met during the slow season. 

He told me he worked construction, but he didn't seem like what I think of as a typical construction worker - David Hodo, he was not. 

He had longish thick dark hair with a little bit of wave in it.  It was always shiny and clean.  He combed it back, and some of it would fall forward over his forehead.  I found that very attractive.

He had a full beard, but it was kept short - Sean Connery, not ZZTop.

He wore silver wire-framed glasses.

He had a medium to large build and usually wore jeans, boots, a button-down shirt, and a black leather jacket - at a time when I was impressed by leather jackets. 

I worked most weekday evenings, and soon I began to anticipate his visits.  He would first go into the hotel lounge and have a beer before coming out to "keep me company".  He always acknowledged me when he first entered the hotel, before going into the lounge. 

He was rather quiet and soft-spoken and struck me more as a writer or musician than a construction worker.  He wasn't particularly flirtatious - didn't say any silly pick-up lines and didn't give me the impression that he was trying to impress me.  I found all of that very attractive.

I enjoyed our conversations.   He would tell me about his day working construction.  It wasn't a passion for him, and I sensed that someday, he would do work that was.   I was a college student then and sometimes talked about school or the hotel.  It may sound boring, but I enjoyed his easy company. 

I didn't know his actual age, but I was 20 and he was, I'm guessing, at least in his late 20's. 

We never went out - never spent time together other than those  nights I was working the desk.  I vaguely remember him asking me to go out, but I can't remember why we never did.

That bothers me.  To this day, that bothers me.


Yesterday's NaBloPoMo prompt:

"Make a list of everyone you've ever had a crush on in your life, then choose one from the list and describe him or her in great detail"
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things

Terri tagged me with a meme. A meme?!

Like Terri, I don't do memes. This is a blog. Isn't a blog just one big rambling meme anyway? And I've been blogging for a long time. What else IS there to over share???

So, like Terri, I will continue to rebel and just do this one (what?). I'll try to reveal revelations not previously revealed here before, but I'm not making any promises...

Seven things you probably couldn't care less about me:




- In high school, I was voted "most humorous girl", but I'm thinking the sweater my partner is wearing in the yearbook photo - now THAT's funny.







- I'm not typically attracted to "beautiful people". I prefer some imperfection. For example, David Beckham is sexy, but not attractive. He needs some beer gut or bad teeth.... something.

- I've never been in a physical fight, but part of me is curious to know what it's like to hit and be hit.

- On that note, I'm a little curious about what prison is like, psychologically. Maybe I could kill two curious birds with one stone?

- When I was 3 years old, I was walloped in the face with a projectile softball. I don't remember anything about the impact, but I still vividly remember sitting on the kitchen counter in my house while my mom cleaned the gallons of blood off of me.

- My upper right arm is tattooed, I have two piercings in each ear lobe, I have no facial hair to speak of and hopefully it stays that way.

- I used to smoke cigarettes, but they made me feel heavy-headed and sleepy for hours and it was easy to quit; I've never tried recreational drugs (other than pot, I mean c'mon, I'm in my 40's); I got truly drunk more often before I was of drinking age than after.

I tell you only because you care.
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scene on a sidewalk

I saw him at first from a distance. But still, I was pretty sure he was male.

He was pushing a baby in a stroller. Just the two of them out enjoying some midday sun and fresh air.

He wore a striped polo shirt, a pair of sensible white athletic shoes, a pair of denim.... capris.

Yes, they were definitely capris - not just mere highwaters - landing at just the perfect capri spot at lower-calf. He wore ankle socks.

It occurred to me then that I had never seen a man wearing capris. It occurred to me then that I was turned off by a man wearing capris.

I pondered this. No, not the man wearing the capris. I pondered my reaction to it. (Well, okay, maybe I did ponder this man a little...) What was so off-putting? I pondered his "ability" to have actually fathered that baby he was strollering around.

Just a piece of clothing.

After all, I've noticed that I CAN like a man in a skirt.

But I don't know if even Brad Pitt can make capris work.

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360 turnaround

It's done. The anticipation. The sleepless nights. The constant checking and updating to find out where HE is.

The day that seemed it would never arrived, finally arrived. Oh, that whole "Magic of Christmas" thing. Be good or maybe HE won't come. Of course he's coming. He's made a list and checked it twice.

We never did that whole Santa Claus thing with our kids. No, it wasn't really any sort of self-righteous decision, it just didn't seem necessary. There are the zealots out there that say it's wrong wrong wrong to lie to your children. Then there's the other camp that says it deprives them of the magical aspects to not go along. To each his own, we say, and passed. No mailing letters. No scare tactics to "be good or else". No cookies and milk.

Of course, they heard the stories, even saw HIM. And we just told them it was a story for Christmas, just for fun. And, by the way, don't spoil it for friends that still believe.

They're older now, and I think survived the deprivation just fine. And it's not like they don't still undergo the stress and anxiety of waiting for HIS arrival.

Chaco, Wolfgang, and Meego pooled the bulk of their Christmas money and savings to purchase an XBOX 360, a couple of games, and an extra controller this year. Mail order.

Omigosh, the constant checking of e-mail updates, tracking notices, google maps, etc., etc., etc. The thing arrived late last week after what felt like an eternity. Yes there is a Santa Claus.

He drives a FedEx truck.
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symbols of love and fertility

I'm feeling good this morning. My roller coaster relationship with the milk man is on track today. Recall last week, we were having some communication issues and this consumed me for most of this week. Codependency is rough.

But after putting some serious work into this - mainly my inability to express myself and my needs in a way that he can clearly understand - we've made noticeable progress. I'm happy to say that the cheese was plainly absent from the cooler and had been replaced by lovable cuddly eggs, sitting right there alongside the unwavering milk.

As proof of his devotion, my Mr. Mm (that's just my pet name for him. Say it. "Mm") also left me this lusty missive:

Happy Holidays

from our family to yours!

_________ Your home delivery driver

*shivers with delight* He penned his name with his very own hand on the blank line. OMG! I would have reproduced it here on the blog, but it also happened to include a *ahem* photo.

It's his TRUCK!!

OH, what the heck! Here ladies, take a gander:

Be still, my heart
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fallen

I was over reading at Terri's, which then prompted me to go over to MTAE's. They've both got this walk down the awkward teen years memory lane going on, and it got my own memories bubbling. So I kick back, put my feet up on the head shrink couch, and jump in to join the fray...

I've mentioned here before, I think, that I grew up in a neighborhood full of boys for the most part. Sure, I was friends with girls at school, but as far as just being able to walk out the door and go find a neighbor kid to play with, it was Boy's Town. So I grew up liking sports and dirt and such and heard more than my share of crude humor. I still don't know if I was already tomboy inclined, or if it was just the environment that shaped me. I have no regrets. While I may not have been the daughter my mother envisioned after having two boys, I enjoyed those rough and tumble pre-adolescent years.

I do, however, remember vividly the point at which I took notice of the human male.

I was probably about 12 or 13 years old. It was a holiday - either Thanksgiving or Christmas. I remember that because my oldest brother was home visiting. He, my dad, my other brother, and I all went out for a walk (again, there I was hanging out with the guys). So we're walking up this street and up ahead there's a guy on a ladder, fixing a window, or maybe he was putting up Christmas decorations, I don't know. I'd guess that he was about 15 feet above the ground.

All of a sudden, his ladder slips, and the guy comes crashing down to the ground! My dad and oldest brother run to his aid with my other brother and me trailing. Surprisingly, he wasn't hurt, but was visibly shaken from the experience. He was kind of freaked out about what happened, almost shocked that he wasn't hurt, but after a few moments, he assured us and himself that he was, in fact, okay.

And all I could do was stand there and look at him.

He had light brown curly hair, was probably late teens or early 20's. We lived in a small town, and he didn't live far from our house, I'm sure I'd seen him before, but this was the first time I really SAW him. He was wearing a pair of bib overalls over a white t-shirt over an athletic build.

It was sooooo HOT!

Looking back, I almost feel guilty that I began to feel the early blossoming of my womanhood from this poor guy that had just come crashing to the ground. I don't know, I think it was the combination of his manliness - the muscles, the tight t-shirt, the fact that he was post-pubescent, unlike the boys I hung out with - and the contrasting qualities of fear and vulnerability from having just fallen off of a ladder.

It was right about that time in my life that I began to not like hanging out with the neighbor boys so much anymore, and I began hanging out more with girls. Then things really got rolling.

But that's for later.
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problems with communication

Well, you know my guy on the side? The milkman?

Yeah, he comes around to service me once a week, and I sooooo look forward to it. And this week especially, I was really waiting in anticipation for him because the weather is cold and a little dangerous, y'know? That danger factor really gets me in an "appreciative" mood, yeah?

Yesterday, it snowed all day, and by nighttime it was really cold and the roads were quite precarious. But I knew my milkman was coming. He never fails me.

This morning, while it was still dark and bitterly cold, I went to "our place". I reached out for him. I reached into "our special box" for my milk and egg treasures, drooling with desire. I found his large familiar jug of milk, just like always, but then... but then...

CHEESE?!?! What's with this freakin' block of cheese?!? And where's my eggs?!?!?

I took out my order form and, holy cheddar, I'd checked the cheese box and not the egg box! The cheese row is right underneath the egg row, it's a conspiracy!!

So, bottom line, even though I ALWAYS get the milk and eggs, he brought me milk and cheese because that's what my order form said! Shouldn't he know by now, after all this time together? I want his eggs, not his cheese?

He delivered what I said I wanted, not what I actually wanted.

Men.
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not just a fantasy

Since Beej asked:

I only saw him once.

And it was dark. He was in silhouette, and I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. He must've been running late that morning because he usually arrives around 1 a.m. I know. I sometimes hear him.

I hear his manly milk truck coming up the street. I hear him bumping and grinding around the cooler I've placed just so. Then, he's back in the truck to satisfy his other customers in the night.

Yes, though, I did actually see him once. The house was dark, but I was up and spied the event through the window right near the front door.

The truck sat mysteriously in front of the house, but soon enough, a stealth figure emerged. He was dressed all in black.... then again, it was dark out. Okay, I have no idea what he was wearing. Clothes.

Anyway, a stealth figure emerged. Well... stealth except he was in this noisy truck and was wearing a big light on his forehead. Okay, he wasn't very stealth as he approached the house, kind of jogging, his headlight beam bouncing.

He bent nurturingly toward the special cooler. I heard him remove the empties, and ever so carefully, replace them with fresh milk and eggs. Okay, it wasn't done that carefully, rather thuddingly, but he got 'er done. Yes, he brings me eggs too.

And just like that, he was gone. Gone back into his manly truck, back into the night. I reached out and grasped the fresh jug, still sweating with condensation, knowing that the milk man would return to me yet again.

Yes, Beej, there is a milkman (but not for Jerry).

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