In some areas of town, I can't help but feel out of place as the locals are all roaming the streets like ants on their way to a picnic or just excitedly on their way to a picnic themselves and are just the roaming types. "Types That Roam" was coincidentally the name of my thesis in my failed Ph.D.
Just when I think I've seen it all, a woman I've never met wants me to inspect her freshly manicured nails before she proceeds to don her wolf suit so she can terrorize her father's sheep who have grown very complacent. The nails were immaculate yet nothing special.
The other day at the library, a fellow lover of dictionaries was overly aggressive and downright acidic with me due to my excessive chortling regarding some of the 'X' entries which I was trying to explain was mostly a result of my parent's insistence that the spots in our house must be obviously and accurately "marked". To this day, I believe that drawing an X on a floor gives me a least partial ownership or at least a place to recite Shakespearean monologues.
While urgently buying breakfast cereal the other morning a group of random tourists insisted that I read them bedtime stories at lunchtime and them treat them to a round of golf followed by a staring contest that was rigged from the beginning. Those random tourists are the bane of my existence!
My sister is constantly telling me that there is no mountain I can't climb before she laughs uncontrollably for a good ten minutes before not only popping all of my balloons, but also deleting my internet browsing history before I had the time to say goodbye. I'm just not the same without some record of my browsing history.
On Monday, I was patiently waiting in line at the bank to inquire about the chance of being given my withdrawn money by a teller dressed as a circus clown and a rabid dog ran in through the open door and skillfully removed everyone's toupees just as I was starting to appreciate them. My bank is a constant source of strangeness and velvet.
Doctors have always told me "that doesn't look normal" and "you need to book an appointment first" and "no, we aren't auctioning off the equipment" before continuing to eat all my yogurt and show up around dinner time impersonating my wife. Wife impersonating is a dying art.
On my way home from the florist where I had my heart set on purchasing a bouquet perfect for an evening of high treason, I ran into some old high school friends who had spent the last bunch of years doing something so excruciatingly boring that not only I could I not hear what they were saying, but I also couldn't taste it, and believe me, I tried. Just once I want to enjoy an excruciating experience.
Whenever I'm out and about, random dogs accost me on the street and bark at me vigorously as if they are attempting to scare me or send me a message from the "head" dog who doesn't seem to like my stance on leashes and free trade. Just for once, I want to bark vigorously to send my messages.
While standing in line to buy my daily hot chocolate and blueberry muffin which helps me reclaim some of my lost sanity, the manager of the cafe stood on the counter and announced to everyone that after much careful consideration he had selected me to buy him some new soap. Yippee!
Whenever I'm inundated with surveys about local politicians' desire to dig series of new holes and petitions trying to save endangered species but still preventing them from purchasing real estate and amazing deals that can't be turned down no matter how adamantly I try, I put on my trusty shoes, pack a light snack, and ride off into the sunset.
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