Curb Appeal

For a variety of reasons I was/am not feeling well, but the Trash was supposed to go out this morning, and sometimes they come early, so I (heroically; there will be a parade in my honor at 1800 hours) managed to scoop up the bag from the kitchen, add the front room, and stumble out the door.

I had just come from bed, so I was wearing was my boxers, and all I grabbed was my cane. Not even shoes. (I know, I know: with a cane I should have had a top-hat.) Normally I don't go outside so un-clad, but it's O'Dark Thirty outside, so I figured a few seconds couldn't hurt.

I managed to get to the curb, leaning heavily on the cane, not even really thinking about what I wasn't wearing (more just trying not to collapse), and this woman comes jogging by, dressed for an attempt to reach the summit of K2.  Seriously: Southerners tend to fall to pieces at the first sign of wind, and it was maybe in the high 50s - certainly no need for parkas, but whatever.

She sees me, and is kind of taken aback. I nod companionably and she says, "How cold's it have to be for you to put on pants?"

I look at her and say, "I must be losing my touch.  Most women try to get my pants off, and you're trying to put them back on."

She turns about 800 shades of red (at least I think it was red; it was dark) and jogs away, and I shambled back into the house, thinking it better be one awesome parade, or else.