Two days ago, a cold strutted up to me and challenged me to an arm wrestling match. I declined politely and turned away, but it grabbed my shoulder, spun me around, and said “You’re funny, boy, actin’ like you got a choice.”
It ended in a draw, more or less, but left me rather tired.
Yesterday I woke up, got ready, stepped out my door into a dead solid punch in the nose. I looked up from the floor into the cold’s grinning face. “Boy,” it said, “when I say ‘match,’ that means I win and you lose. Don’t go forgettin’ it!”
My reply was two words. The first was a short, sharp, guttural sound, and the second was “you.” The cold walked away, still grinning, shaking its head.
This morning I stood back from the door as I opened it, and sure enough here came the punch. I grabbed the fist, jerked it forward, and dragged the cold into the room.
“You an’ me,” it said, “is gwan have a rasslin’ match, right here an’ right now!”
Not seeing much choice, I charged him, but once I’d grabbed hold of him, the louse pulled a sap and coldcocked me. While I was out, it must have worked over my kidneys and given my nose another lesson.
I tell you, having a cold dog you around is no fun.
Anyhow, the Spook–A–Thon postings will continue (four more to write up, and at least six more to watch and write), even into November if necessary. But right now I’ve got an appointment with my bed, and I can’t really afford to be late.