Today is our 13th anniversary. Not wedding anniversary, mind you (such an option wasn't available back when we first got together), but of us. We've been an item for 13 years, and that, dear people, is a record in both of our relationship books. Happy day!
One is supposed to get textiles on one's 13th anniversary, but I don't have the cash for bedding or lace or whatever the heck that means. I won't tell you what I did get Linda, for it is the sort of gift that certain people would remind me of for the rest of my natural life.
Linda will likely do it, anyway, so why give more people fodder?
On other fronts, I almost got in an accident this morning, thanks to the DPW--yes, the folks who cost me a tire and $120 last year because of their gross neglect have raised the stakes. They had lined up their trucks so that they blocked one lane of traffic on a very narrow stretch of Route 66--just around the corner where yours truly couldn't see them. Until the very last minute.
If someone had been coming from the opposite direction at that very last minute, I would have spent the morning on an accident report. Or worse.
The Department of Public Shirks STRIKES AGAIN!
Well, almost.
Last time, they at least had the fallback of saying they had "Men Working" signs up, but this time, they didn't even have that. So I rolled down my window as I passed their row of trucks and shouted, "GET SOME SIGNAGE, YOU IDIOTS!"
They aren't just lazy and stupid, they're DANGEROUS.
God save us all from the DPW...which comes out "Dopes" in spellcheck.
Just thought you should know.
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