My Morning

What's the male equivalent o' "stunning?"

We had to get up at oh-dark-thirty today or at least the Retired Geezer equivalent o' same, which would be 0830 hrs plus two hits o' the snooze button on our spiffy phone-cum-alarm clock.  The reason for our early rise?  A six-month follow-up appointment with our urologist... just to make sure everything is as it should be... and I'm pleased to report everything is peachy, pending analysis of the bodily fluids we surrendered to the smiling nurse.  Let me say this about that: (a) I HATE needles and I HATE feeding the vampires (but we did it out o' necessity); (b) at my age there's a fine line between having to pee and peeing my pants.  I only had three cups this morning before I left home and didn't visit The Little Room before I left the house, knowing as we did that we would have to give up a urine sample.  Well.  It was a near-run thing but we managed to get to the men's room, cup in hand, before catastrophe struck.  All's well that ends well.  Here's the most amazing part:  I was in and out of Roosevelt General Hospital in 30 minutes time... soup to nuts.

So.  We left RGH and motored on down to the automotive beauty salon to give The Tart a much-needed beauty treatment after the rain showers that turned her coating of dust into something that looked a lot like it had recently emerged from a mud bog.  But she glistens now, as befits any dowager recently returned from the spa.

From there we motored on out to Cannon Airplane Patch where I got my own beauty treatment, which is to say my once-every-two-months hair cut.  We also stopped by the Class Six store for to re-stock the fridge with some drinkable beer.  So I'm beautiful now, too, in more ways than one.

I'll be even prettier in about a half hour's time... Beer Me!