You know how it can get so cold outside that it burns? That's today. The wind has whipped across our fair state since last night and the freeze factor zaps your skin of moisture within seconds. Naturally we're fresh out of milk and other Important Foodstuffs, so Mr. B and I made the run to town. No one else was there and we made it through the store and checkout in a half hour. Mr. B dumped extra money in the bell-ringer's bucket. (that's dedication! To stand outside ringing a bell in such weather!) Our next stop was the post office.
I've been a huge fan of old men since my bartending days when they'd sit across from me and talk fishing, politics and football while nursing a tap beer or a whiskey-soda. There's a certain elegance to some old men (James Stewart springs to mind), a polish and manners. Others have a dundering quality, but such kindness and sparkle to their personality that their physical awkwardness doesn't matter (Walter Matthau). Today's old man was short with a huge nose, thick glasses and he was bundled up to his chin in a plaid flannel coat, topped off with a cap with floppy earflaps. We stood beside each other waiting our turn and I smiled at him.
"You know, I've heard it's best to tell jokes while you're standing in line waiting with someone."
"Really? Hmmm, let me think...I don't know that many jokes." I cast around and came up with something not beginning with "knock-knock." "What's brown and sticky?"
"No. A stick."
"Good one. What did one strawberry say to the other strawberry?"
"I don't know. What?"
"If you weren't so sweet we wouldn't be in this jam."
Then it was my turn at the counter.