Monday, January 12, 2015

Divisional Weekend.

Some very good football. Pats, GB were my picks. As was SEA. The Denver game was an iffy type thing  for me. I haven’t the faith in Manning or an aging Bronco Team as the hype would give them but hadn’t the heart to call against them.

Anyhow. I was to spend Sunday with an old friend. He’s a great guy and a grandfather. We were going to watch both games together.

Left somewhat early and stopped by the QT picked up several sweets, four large bags of chips and some Canada Dry Ginger Ale. The Ginger was for me. Got to the friends about fifteen minutes before game time and found that friends wife and their daughter had fled the coupe.

Seems that the ladies wanted another way of spending the day. They did leave the grandchildren with Gramps.

Now I’m a singleton type of male creature. Children are fine if they are others responsibility, and grand kids ain’t so grand, if you kin, being smaller and less reliable than even the normal unruly kid.

But my friend was stuck with his bad habits and the grand kids and I had promised to watch the games with him. So I settled in and things started well.

Chips in a bowl, four bags should be plenty.

They weren’t, really. At the break between the games we realized that the four bags of chips were gone and all my Ginger Ale, too. I figured I could get myself to the QT between the end and beginning and I picked up four more bags of chips and some more ale.

Got back just after the second game started and settled in again. Gramps mentioned that one of the kids wasn’t feeling well, but didn’t dwell on it.

Then the second kid started complaining of stomach cramps and Gramps started paying attention, leaving me to divide my attention between the game and his activities.

The odor soon told me all was not well and I didn’t get to watch all the second game from pleading my dog needed attention and Gramps waved a dirty pair of under shorts at me as he speed dialed various numbers looking more daughter and his wife.

As I passed the kitchen on the way out I thought I’d grab what chips were there and maybe get home in time to catch the wrap ups of the games.

Didn’t happen.

Eight empty bags of chips lay about the kitchen and I pretty well understood the kids probably had the trots.

Listening to the after game reviews at home recently – within the last half hour, I’m hearing the drum beats of Manning is out. Manning is great, but so was Farve.

I’ve been waiting. But Gramps hasn’t called.

I hope the kids didn’t die.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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