Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting:

I’m in a great mood. Do you want to know why?

Who cares?

Now I’m in a lousy mood. Do you want to know why?

Driving by the Bruces

I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: if it hasn’t been done, someone should make Easter candy that consists solely of chocolate bunny ears.

Ask Al

“Do you ever procrastinate?” Let me get back to you on that.

“Should chicken be eaten with the fingers?” No, the fingers should be eaten separately.

“Are or is pants plural or singular?” It is singular at the top and they are plural at the bottom.

“My husband says he can determine the age of a horse by examining his teeth. Is that true?” No, he should examine the horse’s teeth.

“My dream car was a Pontiac GTO. What does the GTO stand for?” Gas Tires Oil.

The cafe chronicles

I like tater tot hotdish with peas in it. That statement is akin to telling someone that I have diarrhea. It’s important to me, but nobody else cares about it.

I ate my hotdish while he sounded as if he were on a speakerphone. Those seated at the table of infinite knowledge listened whether they wanted to or not. It wasn’t a miracle like all the ladies on “The View” listening would be, but it was close.

He was espousing his views on cable TV. He said that he gets only one channel and it was named, “Why am I watching this channel?”

A day in the life

I was wearing Crocs.

That’s my way of telling the world that I’d given up.

I nibbled at the edges of the day, eating a bagel smeared with honey walnut cream cheese.

I was reading the sports section of a newspaper.

I’ve retired from all sports, but still enjoy reading a bit about them on occasion. I don’t miss the sprained ankles and have learned that an athlete’s joints age with a vengeance.

I was squinting like Dirty Harry. It wasn’t for comedy effect. I was attempting to read the baseball box scores in the paper. The minuscule box scores were printed in faded ink.

Alongside the box scores, a columnist wrote about the New York Yankees star shortstop Derek Jeter getting old.

Big deal. He was Derek Jeter before he got old. He could eat lightning and pass thunder.

Jeter is retiring.

Many of us play sports too long. That’s all right. It teaches us that it’s OK to be bad at some things.

Shopping shenanigans 

I was in an office supply store. I’d purchased a printer for a few dollars less than nothing. It seemed like a good deal at the time. Now I’m hooked. My printer is addicted to ink. I go to the store to interact with my printer’s drug dealer when my printer needs a hit of ink.

While there, I looked at office chairs. One had memory foam. I asked if I’d get my money back if the chair forgot me. That store had many items for sale, but I bought nothing but the required ink. William Blake said, “The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

Later, I stopped at a supermarket. I’m not a good shopper. I try to leave the shopping to grownups, but I wanted to see if I had the courage to flourish in a hostile world by visiting two stores in one day. I bought one item in the store. It didn’t have a “one item or fewer” lane and the “12 items or less” lane wasn’t open.

The cashier rang up my lonely purchase. She asked, “Paper or plastic?”

I responded, “Nothing for me. Some of us know how to shop.”

Ophidiophobia

Ophidiophobia is the fear of snakes. It’s a common ailment. One that I’m thankful I don’t have. I don’t know if Jackie Graveman of Albert Lea has this affliction, but when she lived in Hartland, she walked to her job at the bank. In warm weather, she took a shortcut through a grassy vacant lot until she saw the first snake. From then on, she walked on pavement.