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My Geographically challenged son; a walk to the vet.

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

Lest anyone get the idea from yesterday's posting that I am somehow disappointed that I am not allowed to paint after an incident nearly forty years ago, allow me to dispel that impression.

I am just fine and dandy with not being permitted to paint. I think her reasoning is a bit silly, illogical, redonkulous. But, hey, I messed up once more than have my lifetime ago and I am off the hook for painting. Apparently forever!!

So I reiterate Bill Cosby's quote: We are dumb, but we are not so dumb.
Mike's car went kaput in LA so he came home and had us help him buy a new one from a trusted dealer we use. Well, not new but different, and working.

Now he is on a road trip from Baltimore to LA.

He wants to take I-10 so he can visit his sister in Corpus Christi. So I told him how to do it via Richmond, Montgomery, Mobile, and Houston.
"Got your GPS?"
"Yes but, we are going to use a map book."
Bad idea. "Mike. What state is Florida in?"
"Um, Miami? No, wait wait wait ..."
"Exactly. You are map disabled. You are geographically challenged. Use your GPS."

He called me about an hour on the road.
"We decided to pick up the 10 in Jacksonville FL." He now talks like that. It's not I-10; it's simply THE 10. West Coast speak. "We're going to take the One. It's more scenic." I am guessing he means US 1 aka Route One.

You know that sound effect they use for a needle scratching a vinyl record? That's what erupted in my head.

"Mike, Route One just about everywhere is just like Route One here. Car lots, motels, truck stops, freight companies, and fast food. Not scenic."
"Ew. I never knew that was the same Route One."
Facepalm. The boy is so geographically challenged.
Sometimes, Father does know best.
The cat, not my cat, I would never have a cat, had a small cut on his face. Probably from rough housing with my dogs. It got bigger, probably from scratching it so we went to the Vet today.

Now he has to wear the dreaded Cone of Shame. He hates me now. He sees me enter a room and goes elsewhere. Not sure where that is but I do know it is wherever I am not.

Which strangely does not hurt my feelings at all.
To get the cat, not my cat, I would never have a cat, to the vet, I stuffed him into a cat carrier. Stuffed is a good word. Have you ever tried to put a cat through a hole he doesn't want to go through? They suddenly get as big as the hole. It could be three feet across and he is NOT going in there.

When I stepped outside, car keys in hand, I discovered a gorgeous autumn day. I had plenty of time to drive the 1.5 mile, about 15 minutes. Instead I called the Vet office. "Can I put off our 10:50 to 11:15? No, no problem. I just want to walk up today."

And that is what we did. Me and the angry cat walked to the vet.

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