Right at lunchtime I got the call from PDX Wraps, the GTI was done. So I finished up my sandwich and summoned an Uber.
It is Tuesday, so there is another night of 10,000 at the community center. I’m not sure where this little saying came from, I suspect Monica, but when a person rolls a straight, someone, mostly her, always chimes in with a 1. . 2 . 345 or 1. . 2 . 3456. It starts slow and builds in tempo and octave until the last digit is said in falsetto. Needless to say, this has stuck in my head. The very definition of an earworm.
My current bedspread has nine evenly spaced dingle balls along the top and bottom, and I can’t remember how long I’ve had it, but it seems like a pretty long time. When I pull it off to wash sheets, I fold it top to bottom and then middle to the bottom. Then I fold sideways into quarters so that I can get it back on simply by unfolding in the reverse as I go. How do I know I have it horizontally centered? It is by counting to the middle dingleball and lining it up with the center of the headboard. Up until a week ago I simply counted 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, but now I find myself, in my head, counting – 1. . 2 . 345.
Tonight I shared this little tidbit with the group. I’m not sure whether they just feel sorry for this old man or if it might be time to administer a cognitive test…