Wednesday, February 14, 2024


It's Valentine's Day, I am home alone, and my feet are uncomfortable. And you know, I'm okay with that. A friend is also at home, in bed with the flu. Could have been a floozie, but at his age the flu is by far a greater likelihood. He wasn't at the bakery today around teatime, and it was surprisingly quiet. Not because of his absence but because of the rain. Which really came thundering down for twenty minutes shortly after I had left and lit up my pipe.
Expect an angry letter to the editor about that.

"Dear Sir! What is this world coming to when old gits have to smoke their pipes outside in a downpour while young generation Xers are inside playing footsie-wootsie on their cell phones?!?
Hell in handbasket, sir, hell in a handbasket!

This must be like that first Valentine's Day during World War One when soldiers forlornly waved roses at each other from the trenches at Ypres in the cold February rain.

There's tea in the kitchen, and the heating just kicked on.
Life is actually pretty darn good right now.
Earlier I had passed groups of people under the awning at a closed restaurant, at a shuttered jewelry store, at a bus stop, outside a bank, at another bus stop. Many of them were clearly anxious to get home because of the rain, bugger any romantic celebration, we are cold and wet and this is awful, waaaaa, why won't the jampacked bus stop so that we can get on board and benefit from the warmth generated by herds of fellow humans?

"Dear Sir! If we can't heat-vampirize each other something is wrong!
No standing room shall not stand!

All over the city irate individuals are penning nasty letters while busloads of warm dry people thunder past. The lucky sods. This is the fault of those damned liberals.
Life is so unfair.

As an unmarried unattached man without a love interest or even a possible girlfriend, I have no objection at all to Valentine's Day being a cold wet miserable affair.
Not that I pay any attention to that.

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