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Be careful because you never know

OK, so this is kind of an odd story. Unfortunately it’s true.

My publisher, Tony Cox, and I were moving a desk in the office last weekend. Now, this is one of those old-timey metal desks that weigh something like 2,768,098 pounds and aren’t meant to be moved once seven men and a steam-powered crane from a moving company put them in place.

In 1937.

Anyway, we have this bad boy scooted about an inch and we’re trying to lift it like our lives depend on it and we have it about another inch off the ground ...

My end of the desk slips right out of my hands.

Monday morning I went to my bank to inquire about a possible loan for a new vehicle. I love my truck. It has a Pearl Jam sticker on it. Therefore, I love my truck.

After talking about things like, real grown-ups, interest rates on loans, depreciation, atrophy, the Demi-God Gyote, the rising cost of goat cheese, and other such serious stuff, I left parched.

As in thirsty.

I drove through Bojangles near Anderson County High School and got a large unsweetened tea because, dang, I was just thirsty. I mentioned that didn’t I?

Being an “unsweetened” tea is important.

So I paid, put my tea in my truck’s cup holder (the truck I like very much with the Pearl Jam sticker) and headed to work.

My first sip went great.

“Aaaaah ... Just what I needed,” I think I told myself.

My second sip didn’t go so well.

I picked up the cup — plastic I think — and before I could get it to my lips, it slipped out of my hand and I ended with a very wet pair of pants and seat of my truck.

The truck I like with the Pearl Jam sticker on it.

As I felt the cup slipping from my hand I tried to squeeze a little tighter and that helped ... Well, not at all.

It’s like the cup exploded all over me.

Good thing it was “unsweetened,” right”

Take a minute, think about it.

Anyway, the moral of this story is, I have been washing my hands and using the hand sanitizer goop sooooooo much, I no longer have fingerprints and/or callouses.

Now, I’m not a manual laborer. Nothing against anyone who is. I garden (by no means a farmer), I do some small tasks around the ole homestead, am not afraid to put down some brick work in the back yard.

But any “roughness” I had on my hands now belongs to the ages. So moving desks and sipping tea takes a whole new level of coordination that I may be too old to master.

So be warned, the next item to be hoarded will be sippy cups.

I mean, I had to drive around for about 40 minutes before my pants dried enough so I could get out of my truck (the one I like with the Pearl Jam sticker on it) without it looking like I wet myself.

I’m sure this is a common problem for everyone right now.

And then the other day I was in a grocery story purchasing “organic pumpkin” for a dear friend because that’s an ingredient in a dog food she has to make because her dog has been kinda puny lately.

So anyway, I see that “organic pumpkin” is one of the canned goods that hasn’t made it to the hoarders’ “must have” list, and picked up some cans.

About seven, I think.

Then I noticed three people come up behind me and grab several cans for themselves.

“It kills the COVID-19 virus,” one of them said.

“You eat a spoonful of this at night and it’s okay to touch your face in your sleep,” another said.

“Maybe he’s getting ingredients for some fancy dog food for a puny puppy,” another one said.

I think I just made that up.

“Actually,” I said as I turned to face them. “If you eat a can of this you won’t have to use the bathroom.

“It gums up your works. Which is good because nobody has any toilet paper,” I said.

I winked when I said it, like I was passing on some kind of top secret information.

People like to get top secret information.

I know, I do.

I guess these people who rushed up to get all of the cans of organic pumpkin they could grab are hoarders.

They put the organic pumpkin back.

I mean, the stuff is pretty nasty and if that was the only I had left to eat ...

They don’t need their works being gummed up.

They have all the toilet paper.

And last, but not least, about a week ago I stupidly walked into my garage in my bare feet.

Stupidly, because about three days before that I dropped a light bulb and if anybody is going to find that hidden shard of glass on their concrete garage floor, it’s going to be me.

I have a video on YouTube about how to do that successfully.

And sure enough ...

I could feel it with my fingertips, but I couldn’t quite get that little sliver out.

And then is sorta disappeared.

At least, until I walked on it.

So then I had to find some rubbing alcohol to sterilize a needle so I could dig that thing out of my foot, but guess what.

I didn’t having any alcohol.

Neither did the stores.

“People are making hand sanitizer with it,” I was told.

If that’s true, how come there is so much aloe gel available?

No, I think people are hoarding it. When this is all over, we’re going to find garages filled with toilet paper and rubbing alcohol and sippy cups.

And cans of organic pumpkin.