Labor Day Weekend

            It’s been speculated that spring and fall are a little shorter every year.  This year fall lasted about five hours.  We didn’t get much to work with, but it was nice while it lasted.

            I swear, it was just a few hours ago that people were complaining about the heat.  I’m already hearing complaints about the cold.  It’s time like this that take me back to the day my uncle Lou slammed his own head in the bedroom door repeatedly and I wonder if it really was a freak accident, or if he was trying to make a statement of some sort.

            I had all these plans for today.  All of these piddly little things I had been meaning to get done all week.  But really it’s just too windy.  It’s too danged beautiful out there to bother oneself with unnecessary toil and labor.  I know it’s Monday and the Sabbath is done and over, but it’s also Labor Day.  An extended day of rest.  A nice weekend of rest.

            I know Labor Day is no Fourth of July, I just couldn’t help but to indulge a little holiday spirit today.  A little bit of patriotic fervor.  I even donned my bright blue socks for the occasion.  I’m not sure why.

            I guess because I’m proud to live in a country where a man can wear shorts and bright blue socks nearly up to his knees without excessive public ridicule.  Sure, they might point their fingers and laugh.  But nobody gets hurt or attacked over the deal.  Not over socks.

            Today is what Liz and I like to call one of them Psycho Days. 

            Awhile back, we were entertaining and Liz finished somebody’s thought for them, she blurted it out before they could spit it out, and Liz clearly then meant to say, “I should be a psychic.”  But, she didn’t.  Instead, she smiled real big and her eyes got wide and she yelled, “I should be a psycho!” 

            Indeed. 

            Naturally, everybody got a big laugh, including Liz.  Who wasn’t laughing at the same thing everyone else was laughing at.  We went on for awhile with Liz looking only at the possible benefits of being psycho and none of the disadvantages.  She finally caught on when I said, “Right!  ‘Cause everything would be cherries and rosebuds!  If you were a psycho?!”

            I could see in her eyes that she got it, but instead of acknowledging her mistake, she just went with it, and for the rest of the night, she was all, “Honey, if you’re going to the kitchen anyway, could you get me a glass of water, please?  I am frikkin’ psycho.  There’s no telling what I might do if I don’t get that glass of water.  You have to sleep at some point.”

Liz and I decided that day, sometimes it’s just best to leave well enough alone.  You don’t know how you wound up a psycho, or sleeping next to one, it just happens.  Might as well go with it.  Have a little fun.  Enjoy yourself.  The woman wants a water.