Earlier this week, I ventured out of the warmer clime of our home and went out in the negative (F) temps in search of human interaction. Sort of: I went to a shopping mall and then to get my haircut. As I left our house, I turned on my car to pull the engine out of hibernation and then dashed out to the barn to feed our horses. (One does a lot of dashing in below-freezing temps. That's how the song came about, you know.)
At the mall, I guess I wasn't so much interested in purchasing Christmas stuff at 90% off, and I arrived at my hair salon a little early. I sat down to look through all the hair style books. New year, new look, maybe? Into page 3 of the first book, I mused to myself,... But....where are the pages with the 49-year old models? The ones with the double chins? And the hairstyles that DON'T frame your eyes, since who wants to highlight those bags? My stylist came and got me in good time, though, and I resorted to my standard to-the-shoulder undercut. Oh, well. I walked out of the salon thinking I looked pretty good.
And so that was my frame of mind when I got back to my car, whipped off my black down coat (because I can't stand to be buckled in with that thing on, it's like driving in a straight jacket), and that is when I saw what probably everyone at the mall had laid eyes on: the entire back of my coat was covered with horse feed slobber. Apparently one of the horses had slimed me as I walked around and under their heads. For those of you who do not spend much time in an equine environment, horse feed slobber looks an awful lot like vomit.
And the moral of this bit is: just when you acquire a notion that you're all that, or even a 49 year-old semi-all that with bags and sags, God WILL manage to put you in your place.