then get fitted for the suit of flame...
Cosmic retribution for the preceding post was swift and unrelenting.
The spouse, waving a can of black olives around: "Is this open?"
Me: "Yeah, I have to put them away."
As I'm pouring leftover olives into a container, I look up at the TV screen. The Angels are on, and after Lackey's triumphant return, Shields gave up a grand slam. Now some guy I've never seen is on the mound.
Me: "Who the heck is pitching?"
The spouse: "Dunno."
Me, squinting at the TV, forgetting that I am also pouring olives: "Arredondo? Uh-oh."
Olives are bouncing all around my feet.
Milton pounces on an olive and carefully rolls it over to his food bowl. As I'm cleaning up the mess I've made, he runs after more olives, carrying them to join the first, chewing them messily.
Me, in disbelief: "He's eating the olives!"
The spouse: "What do you expect from Mr. Brussels Sprout?"
Go listen to some good music: "Hell" from the album Hot by the Squirrel Nut Zippers.