So here I am, Thanksgiving week and no big dinner planned. No Mark sending me off on endless trips to the grocery store. No turkey. No trip to the liquor store. No pulling out the once a year serving trays. Nothing. At least until last Friday when I decided I would have Thanksgiving dinner here at my house, for me, my pal Dennis, and the two hounds. Just a small and simple dinner. So I went off to the Jewel Friday morning, early. I bought just a few things that I think I will need. Really, what is Thanksgiving dinner but a bird, stuffing, a potato, a vegetable, and cranberry sauce. Done. Anyway, I picked up those items and as I rolled up to the cashier, I felt a rumbling in my gut. Hmmm.... I know that feeling. But I ignored it because I knew I could make it home in time. Out in the parking lot while I was putting the groceries in the trunk of the car, the grumbling became more intense.
"Hey you out there. We have some evacuating that needs to be done down here."
Oh yeah? We'll see who is in charge. I was still sure that I could last the five minute drive home. Well, things went splendidly. I caught all the green lights, and I was behind a guy driving a van faster than even I drive. Clear sailing, until I hit the button to open my garage door. Once, twice, three times. The door did not open. I finally mashed down hard on the button and the door lifted. It was too late. I considered going right there on the garage floor, but thought better of that. So I ran, clenched, to the back door and fumbled with my keys. As I ran up the stairs it all went to hell. Yes, I pooped my pants.
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