The After-Bloat

So, here I am, sitting in a motel room overlooking the world's largest (in surface area) body of fresh water. There are occasional snowflakes drifting down. The overall color scheme is gray. My two children are still sleeping and I am getting hungry. The remains of these (see above) are out in the back of my car and are no doubt frozen solid and could be used for hockey pucks. The bloat was good with lots of people, food, football, and resulting narcolepsy. An impromptu poker game was the only thing that left me feeling lighter yesterday.

Today however, is an open book. Not being one to line up to smoke my credit card in the post turkey day commercial bloat that seems to have made itself a national spectical and unfortunate display of needless consumer gluttoney, I ponder my possibilities. First on my list is breakfast, but there I face a moral decision. Do I wake my babes and attempt to talk them into rising, dressing, going out in the cold for a good breakfast in a steamy basement coffee shop a three minute walk from here? Or do I let them sleep and eventually graze the zero quality buffet provided as part of our motel benefits package?

My next major concern is to replace the drugstore reading glasses, that until last night hung on a string around my neck. It seems that an enthusiastic good night hug from a healthily endowed friend was too much for their slender constitution and the right and left lens parted company shortly after we did. Without such visual aides, I am reduced to a magoo kind of existence where I wander around with a perpetual squint, unable to read anything smaller than a stop sign. I think there is a spare pair out in the car, but that means I have to bundle up and go out in the cold.

Then, there is the repair needed on the auto's windshield washer system. One of the collateral damage casualties of my repair frenzy last week was a once flexible tube that ran from my washing fluid reservoir to the little nozzles on the hood whence the blue juice was squirted onto my windshield. The importance of such a system cannot be overemphasized in a northern, winter seasoned clime such as this. To those of you living south of the mason-dixon line (where ever that may be), in the winter when snow falls on the roads up here, the response is to send out massive trucks full of salt and sand which gets sprayed down all over the place whether it is needed or not. Consequently, any car driving upon such a surface, leaves behind it a large rooster-tail of wet, sloppy grit which immediately coats any vehicle behind it, instantly obscuring the drivers vision. This is done for safety reasons.

Therefore, driving a vehicle without a functioning windshield washing system is kind of like playing Russian-roulette. So, I must attempt to fix mine.

There are more fun things to do, but since we will be here for a couple of days, I will save some for later.

Ta-ta.