...watch a freakin' major league baseball game tonight. Weather forecasts and current conditions all but pinky swear that we're in for a ass-biter of a night. It'll be more like "MLB on Ice" than the Red Sox versus the Royals. Still, though, it's opening week, which means summer will be here, and that rocks, because that's my favorite time to bitch about the heat while mopping my shiny forehead with anything nearby, including little children and animals.
Anyway, we're sitting without overhead shelter, about fifteen rows behind home plate, with no guarantee that our multi-layered bodies will fit in the seats. I plan to resemble Randy in "A Christmas Story", and I'm still freaked out by the cold. My nose needs no coaxing to turn bright, alcoholic-red, much like a human Rudolph (the reindeer, not Giuliani).
We leave in an hour, but for now I have to go tell a drunk customer that "25" is NOT "50". As in milligrams. I will not go down for correctly filling a prescription order. I said good day, sir!
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