BAD KITTY

Dinner was followed by a night of strange dreams, which were no doubt inspired by what I had eaten. Which is why I am fully awake at six o'clock on a day off. Possibly I should exercise greater discrimination about meals, rather than approaching the matter so casually.

The problem with being a bachelor is that eventually you must realize that you have, without being cognizant of the development, become a weird-ass goober.


From the other room comes the sound of my apartment mate talking to the stuffed animals. The phrase "bad little kitty" is repeated two or three times. She must be talking to the little black critter with the goo-goo eyes that keeps trying to steal my wallet.


I may have, over the years, had help becoming a weird-ass goober.

Or at the very least, enablement in goobertude.

This was not a singular achievement.

Ill-advised dining was.

Back to bed.



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