By rights, Kindly Old Mr. Curtin should right now be awaiting the second course of the Palm Beer Dinner at Monk’s Cafe–mmmm, grilled octopus served with Rodenbach Grand Cru–having already finished the first–mmmm, potato and goat cheese terrine with truffle sauce served with Steen Bruge–and anticipating the still-to-come Palm braised osso bucco served with Palm Ale and dessert served with Boon Kriek.
Instead I’m sitting here at the desk entertaining you wastrels while leftovers warm up for dinner.
I have the urge for a long rant, but not the energy, so let this brief explanation suffice. After a man spends $276 on Monday to replace one of those sensors (the fuel injector one in this case) that they put in modern engines to break down and drain our wallets in order to be sure his automobile would be functioning for this very busy week, only a sadistic and cruel universe would allow him to walk outside his door late this afternoon to find his right front tire completely flat.
Am I right or am I right?
Anyway, replacing the tire with the tiny spare is not something that a wise man with my back issues would attempt and neither would I. It took the guy from the auto service I use over an hour to get here and before he was done I had missed not only the train which would have gotten me to the city in time for the dinner but would have had a helluva time getting to the station for the one which would make me half an hour late.
I bet the damned car will work just perfectly getting me to my Beer Yard penance tomorrow.
* With apologies to James Thurber.SHARE