Someone is sending me messages, messages pertaining to the possibility if not the probability that I'm on to something.  Something big.  Tagging along with these messages, however, are mini-messages or sub-messages.  Let's call them metaphorical "post it" notes about certain--and I find this difficult to type--certain... delusions of grandeur.

There.  I said it.

OMG, this is no time for reflection!

But even so, I reflect.

You see, I was warned about this happening.  In fact it's been drummed into me.  Much the same way a guide will advise tourists to "stay with the group" (it is, after all, a craggy and unforgiving mountain), I've also been told to, with the group, stay.  To, between the lines, keep it. 

But I have strayed.

What I'm saying is perhaps I have bitten off more than I can masticate.  My mouth is full and my plate even more so.  Mounds of pies and biscuits crowd my silverware.  (Where is my sherbet spoon?)  Mugs of denatured liquor and the nectar of ground-up coffee beans ring my burgeoning plate.   

To the impartial observer it would appear, I'm sure, that Herb Overstreet is overloaded.

But still I chew.

This is also no time for a recap.  If you feel relatively uninformed, or if you feel to any extent underinformed, go here and navigate forward.  Soon you will be "caught up," and will begin to understand the source of my... consternation.

That I was whelmed when I saw Mr. B. pawing that other woman--a woman clearly not his wife--is a foregone conclusion.  But was I overwhelmed?  No.  I refuse to let all of this get to me.  Let me repeat:  my plate is not too full.

Did I cringe?  No, I don't think I cringed, exactly, when I saw them embrace.  I suppose I tried to hunker down a bit more.  Though actually retracting or compressing myself further would have been rather difficult to perform, considering that when I first parked near the other woman's ratty house...  OK, she has frilly curtains over her garage window, a fleeting glance and you'd think it was a bedroom, I mean how misguided is that?...  Anyway, when I first parked nearby, I quickly assumed the position:  magazine with eyeholes cut into it, baseball cap pulled down lower than a low-slung thong, sunglasses, the works.  And of course I slouched down pretty far in the seat.

So, physically, I couldn't really hunker down any further, however I reacted to their dalliance. 

I guess you could say I recoiled.

But, here, let me cut to the cheese:  when Kevin B. drove away, I did not have the heart to continue to follow.

One extremely curious development though, something that's been bugging me ever since-- whoops, phone.

'Scuse me for a sec.

............

OK, I'm back now.  That was our vet.  Blood tests are in.  A colonoscopy is no longer a requirement for Semper.  But even still:  it's an option.  Dawnie and I discussed.  For the time being, we're enacting a "wait and see" mode of operation.

There now:  that wasn't too derailing, was it? 

So yeah:  I cut off the tail.  And I probably shoulda kept on following Kevin, 'cause he walked out with the same bag of dog food.  Under his arm.  I guess he managed only a half-hug, struggling as he was with those Kibbles 'n Bits.

Which is equally curious, if not more so:  how one can surmise from a hug (or, in this case, a half-hug) the coziness or degree of intimacy of a couple.  It looked like a pretty romantic hug.  Upon release he mussed her hair and she pushed him away, grabbing and pushing his chest.

Sometimes you hate it when you see other people in love.

But that bag of dog food.  I kept replaying those two sequences:  he walked in with it; he walked out with it.  Why would he enter and leave with the same full bag of dog food?  Why bother with it?  It just didn't make sense.

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