So, Gene’s birthday was Monday. I won’t tell you how old he is because then he’d look like a major cradle robber, being married to a 29 year old. I will just tell you he was born during Woodstock. Except not at Woodstock.<\/p>\n
(:::Pauses to consider Blanche at Woodstock::: \u00a0)<\/p>\n
(Ha ha ha).<\/p>\n
Anyway, I took the day off of work. I spent the morning at the Nissan dealership (oil change! filter change! something or other cleaning! $200 and change! Whee!) and of course at Dr. P’s office (see separate ranting post). (Except I left out the part where my appointment was for 10:45 and I didn’t even get out of the Waiting Room of Doom until 11:30).<\/p>\n
And then Gene and I went shooting. He’s a membership of a local wildlife association (don’t worry, we didn’t shoot anything but targets, and believe me, the targets got the worst of it). I shot big guns and I did pretty well. I don’t like guns, but I do think that when I have shot them it gives me a respect for what they can do. And I know one thing: I do not want to get shot. Holy cow that must hurt. It’s hard enough pulling the friggin’ trigger.<\/p>\n