Wednesday, June 20, 2012


To the person or persons who might have been waving at me in the Ingle's parking lot:

Hello.  I'm sorry I didn't stop, or wander the 200 feet toward you.  My eyesight sometimes isn't the greatest, and I should have come nearer to see who you were, or if you were, in fact, waving at me.  There were multiples of you, so hello to you all.

I could tell you that I was in a hurry because I had frozen goods in my bags, and it was 184 degrees outside. (This is true, though this was not the reason I did not stop).
I could tell you that I was heading home to go to bed.  (Not entirely untrue.  It was a late night for yours truly, at the Southern Baseball League All Star Game, combined with an early morning at work.  Papaw will hitting the hay rather soon).

The truth is?  I had to poop.

Beer.  Ballpark Hot Dogs.   The heat and humidity.

Had to go.  First thing I did when I got home.

Left the cold stuff on the kitchen counter until I was finished.

So.  There you have it.

I hope you're well, and that your evening was free of the singular discomfort I was feeling some 20 minutes ago.

Most sincerely yours,

Big Stupid Tommy


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