I’ve run 22 miles so far this week.  And it seems like half of it has been in the rain, cold rain.  I caught a cold in the rain on Wednesday, said fuck-it, and returned to run Thursday to shake the cold off.  That’s the way to do it.  If you can get away with it.

Before
running last night, a colleague of mine from work beseeched me to join
him at a party after work where there would be a good gathering of
co-workers.  I usually steer clear of such celebrations, but told him if I was in the neighborhood that I’d stumble in.

Well, after my run (seemingly neverending in the Land of Dreams), I 'ended up' in the neighborhood.  Turns out it was a birthday celebration for C., a female co-employee I don’t know all that well, but whom everybody seems to love.  She
was in roaring birthday form: vivacious, dancing with everyone, and
making quite a scene. And because it’s well known that I always carry
all my computer gear in my backpack with me all the time and my digital
cam is among my gear, I was called upon to take pictures of the
merriment.  So snap away I did.

Then someone suggested that I get my picture taken with C.  I
reluctantly surrendered my camera to a buddy and then posed decently
next to C., side by side, looking straight into the camera.  You know, like the picture that inspired Grant Wood to paint American Gothic (woman and farmer with a pitchfork). 

That’s when C. suddenly grabbed my cap and sunglasses and put them on.  And then just as suddenly grabbed me, whispering: “We can’t just pose—pretend we’re making out.”  Before I could even respond…

Snap.

notforprophet Gothic?

Why do birthday girls always get  to have it their own impulsive way anyway?