I love getting up before Tom and Elway on weekend mornings. My mind races in the potential of the day with all the things I'd like to do; workout either on the treadmill while watching a Kathy Griffin or Eddie Izzard comedy stand-up tape, or take Elway down to the levy for a walk, read one of the two books I've started,
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov or
1984 by George Orwell, write a story I felt I had to start for some kind of theraputic purpose but, as usual fell short of developing a full plot, (maybe someday) cook my usual weekend zuchini-mushroom scramble, etc. However, if I get to one of these things I consider it a day not wasted.
Somehow, Wal-mart, Costco, or Rosauers usually take over my Sundays. Costco and Rosauers are not that bad, but Wal-mart... Where do these people come from? They are the people you don't see out in the rest of the town. They only seem to crawl out from their rock to come to Wal-mart. We always see the guy who wears his faded black Dale Earnhart Sr. pajama bottoms with the red number 3 all over them not covering the top 2 or 3 inches of his butt crack and the white t-shirt barely covering his enormous stomach. And of course, he has a mulet, which Tom says, "was combed with a porkchop." This man or his relatives are there every time we go to Wal-mart. I don't see them anywhere else in town. Only there.