Please excuse me.

I woke to the insistent scratching of a beagledestructor outside the bedroom door this morning.  Snookums is usually the first to rise, and I try to catch that last fifteen minutes of sophoric bliss while she goes through her morning routine.  In an effort to keep me from waking on the grumpy side, she shuts the master bedroom door in a vain effort to keep the joyous mutts from greeting me on the bed while she is locked in the bathroom.
But I have a full plate this day.  Sam’s club with snookums is the first stop, then deliver the product to the synagogue, take snooks home, then a visit to the optometri$t for an eye exam. 
Then the obligatory showing of the affordable frame display with the hideous offerings, and artfully poised alongside it the high end glasses.  I am not really a slave to fashion.  Levi’s or Wal-Mart Gaucho’s work well for me.  But I do have to draw the line at thick imitation horn eyeglass frames.
And this is the time of slichus, or slichote again.  Roughly translated, it means “excuse me”.  If I have willfully or accidently offended you this last twelve months, I am truly sorry.  I am half child of god and half horses ass, and I never know which half is in control at any given moment.
I am enjoying the coffee this morning, as usual.  Somewhere in the morning post I routinely offer a loving paen to the brew.  God gave us coffee first, and rest second.  At least according to The Book of Rusty, anyway.
And that coffee cup is empty … time for the second cup, and more low rent Zen.
Good morning! 

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