I have clung onto one small piece of vacation.  One reminder of relaxing days lakeside.  My beard.  Yes, it’s scraggly.  Yes, it’s got all sorts of white hair mixed in.  Yes, it’s probably time for it to go.

At work today, I ran into a co-worker by the elevators.  Giving her a “hello” and she looked startled.  She had not recognized me with a beard (yes, the start of witness protection).

Informing her that it was just a reminder of vacation and certainly temporary, she informed me of the fact that it made me look like I was leading “fishing tours.” Yes, with the beard, career opportunities abound.

Popeye the Davyman 

My single worst habit, while driving?  Enjoying a bowl of oatmeal on the road.

There I am, barreling down the highway, enjoying a tasty and nutritious bowl of Quaker Oats.  Two minutes before I leave the house, I microwave my oats and then hop into the car.  Heart healthy, road questionable.

Well, this morning, I went for my oats and noticed something different.  I had run out of “quick cooking oats” and was left with the “old fashioned oats” variety.  A quick scan of the packaging and the only difference appeared to be that the “old fashioned oats” take a whole 45 seconds more to microwave.  Wow!  Saving 45 seconds, those quick cooking oats certainly deserve the right to brag. By the way, that was your daily allowance of “oat sarcasm.” You’re welcome.

So, I put my old fashioned oats in the microwave for 165 seconds and headed on my way.  Driving a little ways down the road, I took a big spoonful of oat goodness and stuck it in my mouth.  Then pain!  Pain, followed by shock.  Shock, followed by me desperately grabbing for the bowl.  Bowl retrieval, immediately followed by scalding hot oatmeal dribbling from my mouth into the bowl.  All while driving 65 miles per hour.  You’re welcome.

Apparently, that extra 45 seconds in the microwave turns warm oatmeal into oatmeal of the combustible variety.  Hotter than the sun.  Far too hot for human consumption and more suitable for interrogation.  “Listen Buster, fess up or a scalding hot Quaker will be all over you.”

Yep, I may be a danger to myself and others, but I’ve got one healthy heart, a burned tongue, and some steaming hot oats within arm’s reach.

After hearing our dog bark at a life-size cardboard cutout of Twins Second baseman Brian Dozier, I suspect that he is either kind of stupid or he just has something against players hitting .220ish.

Returning home, we asked our boys a simple question, “How was your night?” Followed quickly by, “No fights?”T

The boys paused before answering.  No need for any further questions.  The pause said it all.

9-year-old Ben approached me with an excited look in his eyes.  “I hear the ice cream truck,” he explained and pleaded.  “Can we get something?”

Reaching into my wallet, I handed him a $20 bill with the instructions to purchase four ice cream items (one for him, his two brothers, and the dog).  Ben smiled and ran off.  No  time to waste, when you are chasing a truck.

Soon Ben returned with treats in hand.  After a few minutes, I asked, “Where’s the change?” Ben looked at me with innocent 9-year-old eyes and said, “I left a tip.” A bit confused and starting to suspect what happened, I followed up with “How much?” “$8” was his swift response.

That’s right, a 66% tip.

Now, I don’t know much for certain, but I do know that the ice cream truck will return to our street.

“Ode to the Lost File”

Those were great notes.

A fine reflection of the meeting.

Oh, I wish I had saved them.

My joy is now fleeting.

I had one job.  One job only.  Pick up the fried chicken for our work picnic and safely deliver it to the picnic pavilion.

Unloading it from my car, I noticed something.  Something stark and undeniable.  A chicken grease stain in my trunk.  Chicken juice seepage that dripped from the container onto the floor.  My trunk had received a chicken scented bath.

Now, a true dilemma.  Clean the trunk and comply with societal expectations or leave the stain and have one epic smelling fried chicken air freshener.  No losers there.

Look over there!  See that, guys?

That dude is checking his phone, before he gets in line at the grocery store.  He is checking with his wife to see if she needs anything.

Ping!  Yep, there’s the return text.  Turns out that they are out of napkins.

Without that text, wifey would have been sad, as the whole family of pseudo barbarians wiped their mouths on their sleeves.

Well played, hubby.  You are an inspiration to us all.

Okay, so I left my socks out and about this evening.  My sincere apologies.  You see, the Mud Room seemed like a fine place to store my hosiery, rather than have them get all dirtied up, when I ventured out into the garage.  Your Honor, the defense rests its case.

Prosecution – Exhibit A

I thought it was really nice that I got dressed up for the photo with my elegant wife.

#BeautyAndTheBeastMode