Just me and you and dog named Scoop
So, I call this Bachelor Brad Weekend (I’d call it Bachelor Otis Weekend, but the alliteration would be all off). The wife is off to a hitchin’ in Jackson, MS and I have cleared my schedule for a weekend of boyish activities. The only one to keep me in line is Scoop.
And here’s to me being really excited. During a bit of downtime at work today, I checked my e-mail. Somebody has actually been reading my ramblings here on RER! I’m not just sending my missives off into the ether! While I don’t think any part of my life is all that exciting, it’s nice to know somebody takes the time to read me.
I have just a few minutes before I go and put my life in the hands of a skilled chopper pilot. I thought I’d let loose a faint sadness now so my weekend will be a happy one.
If you’ve ever flown into the Greenville/Spartanburg International Airport (not exactly JFK), you’ve likely run into or run by a woman named Birthday Betty. She worked in the gift shop. She was round and losing her hair and could talk your ear off. If you told her your birthday, she would never forget it. You could walk by three years later and she would look at you, tell you your name, and tell you your birthday. A lot of people thought she was a freak. A lot of people thought she was a gift. I never had much of an opinion either way and I’m sort of sad that I didn’t.
That’s because Betty died yesterday. Heart attack. Her husband found her dead.
Betty knew my birthday and I didn’t know hers.
I just know what day she died.
That’s why I’m sad.
Now that I’ve purged that, I feel a little better. Here’s to poker, beer, football. and the unofficial start to autumn.