Dagnab it!


If it would do any good at all, I would hurl myself onto the floor and explode into a weeping rage.  By “do any good,” I mean if it (the tantrum) would produce a change in the weather.  A series of big-butt thunderstorms passed through Central Ohio. Yea and verily, I saw the multi-pronged bolts of lightning strike the ground and from my vantage point in my car, the ground they struck looked pretty close to my stable.

So, funny pants* and all, I came right back home but stopped at the grocery and bought stuff.  Just stuff.  Beer.  Cherries.  Sliced kiwi fruits.  Cherry pie.  Soup.  Aged gouda.

If I can’t ride, then I’ll graze.


 *My summer riding tights are funny pants, looking almost like something you’d jog in but for the faux-leather patches on the knees and the muddy paddock boots on my feet.  I think the boots gave me away as a true eccentric.  God.  Remember when you were a teenager and wouldn’t have shown up dead in public wearing such awful clothes?  Times change, at least in your head.


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