The grocery store is one of my happy places. It’s always organized. Soft music playing. On really good days, free samples. Usually a new product surprise awaits (Carrot Cake Oreos? Don’t mind if I do.). Yes, the aisles are filled with “happy.” Makes me feel all sorts of warm and safe inside.

Strolling the aisles in my state of shopping bliss, I approached the dairy case. There was a gallon of skim with my name on it. Grabbing a jug, I glanced ahead. Rows of milk stretching back toward the back of the shelf and A FACE! Egad! I jumped a tad, stepped back, and closed the door. I knew people worked back there, but usually it’s accompanied by dairy movement, with milk sliding toward the glass door. Never stony silence and lifeless eyes.

I went about my business. Cheese slices and wheat thins (the big sized cracker variety, of course) remained on the list.

I returned to my shopping, with just a tad less bliss and a dash of caution. I guess it’s good to be a little on guard, especially when you’re still within range of the curious eyes dwelling in the rear of the refrigerated case.

4:30AM. I couldn’t sleep. I finally gave in. I decided to get up, get started, and get at it.

Slowly, I snuck out of bed. Silently, I tiptoed toward the bedroom door.

Every movement was scripted. Every measure taken to avoid waking my sleepy wife.

Then in an instant, I felt something under foot. It was soft, furry, and I dare say a little squishy. Timed with my footstep, the ground howled in anguish.

At that moment, I knew my tired wife would wake up and I would need to apologize to my dog.

Epilogue – Please, no “Get Well Soon” cards for Kirby, the beagle who strategically places himself in harm’s (foot’s) way. He’s fine and will surely wake the house another day.

You see it.

I see it.

Still, I’m not gonna eat it.

I’m “Brownie Strong!”

Every job has its unexpected tasks. Today, I learned that I play a crucial role in the office and I never knew it.

In talking with my friend Nathan, he informed me that the only way he knows that food is in the office kitchen is when he hears me talking about it. Who knew? My loud praise of free food carries over the cubicle walls playing a real and beneficial purpose. I am the Office Food Town Crier.

“I do declare, there are doughnuts by the sink and the ones with sprinkles look absolutely delightful.”

“‘Tis the season for Joe’s yummy brownies!”

“By the look of this spread, it must be someone’s birthday.”

and of course my favorite…

“Hear ye, hear ye! The kitchen has just received a batch of cookies by Dave. Let the rejoicing commence.”

The other day following an exercise class, my super svelte wife observed that I grunt during exercise. I denied the claim, but I was now curious.

I asked my friend who works out with me. She confirmed it. Yes, I grunt.

Now, my friends, let me just say this about that. I should not be grunting. I’m no tennis player and I would most likely be killed by a serve from a Williams sister. As a result, I have no right to grunt during exercise and probably no reason. So today, I will start a new and perfectly reasonable New Year’s resolution, no exercise grunts from me.

There I said it. Now, enjoy the silence (or in my case grunt-free heavy exercise exertion breathing). You’re welcome.

FRUITY PEBBLES KRISPIE TREATS

“Yabba Dabba Delicious!”

3 Tablespoons Butter

5 1/2 cups Mini Marshmallows

6 cups Fruity Pebbles cereal

Over low to medium heat, melt the butter.

Stir in the mini marshmallows.

Stirring occasionally, melt the marshmallows.

Remove from heat. Stir in the Fruity Pebbles.

Using greased hands, press the mixture into a greased 11″x13″ pan.

Cool.

Cut into bars.

Makes about 24 bars.

At lunch, the boys requested some entertainment. They wanted to be asked some quiz bowl type questions. Pulling some up on my phone, we began.

Typical quiz bowl type stuff ensued, with answers like “Oklahoma as the Sooner State,” “Henry David Thoreau wrote ‘Walden,'” and “Carbon is represented by the letter C on the Periodic Table.”

The boys battled back and forth, then came the next question, “Name this type of confusing statement or argument, which logically contradicts itself.”

Without missing a beat, my 10-year-old son Ben said, “Sam.” Interesting answer, let’s consider. Your older brother Sam does often make confusing statements and frequently (and logically) contradicts himself.

The website says that the answer is “paradox,” but we’ll accept “Sam.”

Ben, congrats! You’ve won. Sam, congrats! (We think.) Looks like you’re now an official “Human Paradox.” Somehow, it all makes sense.

Our 6-year-old beagle Kirby could not have cared less that it was his birthday. As a result, we decided to play it low key. No cake. No candles. No singing. No doggy friends party. We did however buy him a fresh bag of Beggin’ Strips, simulated bacon dog treats.

As dinner drew to a close, I figured it would be a good time to feed Kirby his treats. My family continued eating the remains of their food, as I handed out one treat to each of them. Oh, Kirby was going to have a good birthday night. Five treats from his five favorite people. Now, that’s a good dog day.

I got ready to explain the newly distributed treats, when I saw an odd look on my 10-year-old son Ben’s face. Looking at his hand, I saw half a treat. Looking back up at young Ben’s face, he started to laugh.

I stand corrected, 4 1/2 treats is a pretty good dog day.

An argument at the dinner table is nothing unusual. This time however the topic was painfully theoretical, the value of any number divided by zero. My sons Jacob and Sam fought over the topic. Voices raised. I silently stared at my corn chowder.

My lovely peace making wife offered the following, “The problem here is that Jacob is a linear thinker, while Sam is an abstract thinker.”

Sam saw an opening and took it. Speaking through a giggle, he added, “Yeah, I have a left side of my brain and he has none.”

Nice play son and a would be win, but it’s correction time, since the right side of your brain is the abstract one.

There is no arguing, however, that no matter how you divide it, tonight’s corn chowder was delicious. Fact.

Getting ready for work, I had a thought. “If I replaced the burned out light bulb in our bed room, wouldn’t I be the swellest husband in the world?” “Well, certainly, Dave,” I answered myself. That settled it, I had five minutes to spare. That light would shine again. That title of World’s Swellest Husband would be mine!

Perked awkwardly on a kitchen stool, I peered into the light’s glass enclosure. I wish I hadn’t. Dust galore awaited. A bug graveyard awaited. A pencil topper (What? Huh? No seriously, it…) awaited.

Screwing off the glass enclosure, a large portion of the dust and dead bugs fell earthward onto the carpet (for some unknown reason the pencil topper stayed put).

I sighed. Windex awaited the glass enclosure. The vacuum awaited the carpet. My project had become a multi-step process.

So much for having five minutes to spare.

I screwed in the light bulb.

Those five minutes had vanished into thin air.