10 June 2013
Story #675
R. Linda:
There has to be a mental illness that the Weasil has that hasn't been classified yet. I know he has one. What other explanation is there?
Have you ever noticed the fact that Weasil cannot seem to sit still? Not even for half a minute, no, no, the scamp be up and about and always doing something. Some things range from behaving to mostly getting into trouble. And when it's trouble he finds, it doesn't affect him at all that others are unhappy with him. He thrives on other people's energy as well. For example, he will arrive at a normal person's abode filled to the brim with spastic energy. Before that person knows it, he is being whisked out the door and into some totally unexpected and unimagined mayhem. These episodes I have classed as Mr. Toad's wild rides, or in this case, Mr. Weasil's.
What is this disorder? Well, I be no doctor, but I think the Weasil is bipolar to a degree. What other explanation could there be for this behaviour? Though me wife jeers the Weasil is manic-spastic, whatever that means.
The only problem with MY diagnosis would be that Weasil never seems to swing from the energy side to the low energy side of the mood and energy pendulums. He is forever on a happy high with life (I know you are thinking drugs) and never really gets down. If you tell him someone has passed away, he's sympathetic, but it never lasts for long before a joke comes bubbling out of his mouth. I think that is needed to pull the rest of us out of the doldrums. But still.
Take, for example, this very week, I had two friends pass away while the Weasil was still at me house. He insisted on going to one of the funerals. We were standing graveside, and the minister was saying things like, "Frederick, your family is mourning you, but I know you want them to remember what a wonderful family man you were, but you were much more. I think all of us want those left after our passing to say in remembrance what a good person we were and what a difference we made in their lives." And Weasil whispered to me, "An I wanna say, 'Hey! Look, he's still moving!'"
That be a fine example of Weasil humour, inappropriate as it was, I tell ya! He sets you up in a dark, mournful atmosphere, then hits one between the eyes with a zinger.
It seems to be one manic episode after another with the young whippersnapper. He's always getting himself and anyone he has along for the ride into some kind of trouble. He can't help it. Me worst nightmare is being in his company and Captain Jaack's at the same time. I am hopelessly useless when this occurs. It turns into a one-upmanship competition and can be fast and furious. I have made a note to meself NOT to engage in any situation that requires them both in the room at the same time, especially if they both are dressed as pirates. If it was Wolfie, at least I know I have an ally in the same thinking on the Weasil . . . but with less patience.
Earlier this week, Weasil arrived at me abode to drag me protesting self off for what has become the Tri-State Tour. It used to be Dragon, who, along with me wife, would have me drive them for an annual trip to Kittery, Maine. Not being from here, and as the designated driver, I, for the first three years, would drive from New Hampshire to Maine to Massachusetts, the last not being part of the trip. It became known as Gabe's Annual Tri-State Tour.
Well, the Weasil got wind of not so much the "tour" but the trip to Kittery. He went up there on his own and had a wonderful time. He took his sidekick that crazy Scot, Rabby Kincaid with him the next time, and then the following year, they dragged my arse up there with them, and to make me comfortable with the trip, drove me to Massachusetts just to relive the experience. I tell ya, I did not find it funny. It took twice as long to get home and away from both of them, and I was well on me way to becoming a crazy person, okay, crazier person. So this year, Weasil was threatening me with a trip to Kittery AGAIN.
He arrived in Rabby's car, Rabby being under the weather. Now Rabby be a big beefy type, so his choice of car was a surprise -- he drives a Mini-Cooper. How he gets his 200 lb. self in that thing, I have notta clue. How he would be comfortable driving it is just astounding. But that's what he drives. And there it was in me driveway, bright red with a British flag painted on top, and something else on top, Weasil's surfboard! I stood there looking at it holding me cup of joe.
"That's what we are taking?" I asked Weasil.
"Yup, yup, yuppers!" Weasil grinned.
"That looks ridiculous. Why don't we take me Saturn?" I asked.
"Because ya nevah been in a Mini an it drives quite nicely, AND I havta droppie off da surfie boardie," said he.
"It's terribly small and you and I are both over 6 feet tall, so how'd ya think THAT comfy?" I asked, staring at the tiny mobile.
"I drove it here dint I? I don't look any worse for it." He did a turn so I could see all of him, front, sides and back.
I sighed. Okay, there was nothing to do but jam our tall selves in, and we did. The front seat is surprisingly roomy, so it's not bad, but still, I couldn't see how Rabby squeezed himself behind the wheel.
In me consternation about fitting in that small vehicle, I had forgotten the surfboard strapped to the top. However, it didn't take long to remember it as we hit the highway. Suddenly, we were airborne, and I was totally confused, with a good fright thrown in.
"Wha . . . wha . . . be happening?" I said, holding on to the dashboard with two hands as the vehicle's front end lifted off the ground.
"Oh, it's just da surfie boardie has shifted to aeroplane wing position." Weasil threw at me casually.
"WHAT?"
"Itz okie dokie cuz it won't fall offie."
"I don't care if it isn't falling off, but we are almost airborne, stop and fix it. We can't drive down a major highway with WINGS!"
So he did, he pulled the Mini over and readjusted the straps. That position lasted for about ten minutes before we were lifting off again! I tell ya the Weasil is more than a piece of work, he's certifiable and if there is any question as to why, THIS IS IT! Only this time, I didn't have to tell him to pull over because Officer Mercer of the law did that. Weasil was issued a warning and feigned contrition until the officer left. Then, once again, on the road, lift-off occurred, and we were pulled over AGAIN. This time by a state trooper. This officer was not as lovely as the last one. He was all for a Breathalyser test for the Weasil. Of course, zippy Mr. W passed it and was issued another warning. Once again we start off and we make it to the expansion bridge between New Hampshire and Maine when you guessed it, we were more than slightly off the ground, we were freaking flying with the air current as other vehicles were avoiding us.
I started berating him, and he told me he couldn't stop on a bridge. Well, it's true that there was no place to go but down, but in our case, it was up! Somehow, we flopped to the other side of the bridge and made it to the Kittery exit without law enforcement.
We had to park at the very back of the first parking lot we got to because of the Mini Cooper's "wingspan." I almost beheaded meself when I got out, forgetting the board was lying horizontally to the roof instead of vertically along the length of the Mini.
I wanted to hit Weasil over the head for stupidity, and he knew I was short of a fury when he informed me the black crows of Calvin Klein had spied me arse in their parking lot.
"He's backie!" He called to them, and sure enough, there they were. You don't know how quickly the temper left me for the focus on those salespersons whom I had got the best of the last time out. Now they were standing there pointing and laughing at me ride. Was the temper starting to boil? It was, and Weasil was no help. He acted as if he were sending me off to war with Calvin Klein by straightening me shirt collar and sending me in their direction. I made like I was walking straight for their door, but instead made a quick right into J. Crew instead. I had the satisfaction of seeing that when they saw me coming, they all disappeared behind their clothing racks. Yup, they did.
I was joined by Weasil sometime later, which had me worried about what trouble he had been brewing on his own. When we got back to the Mini, the surfboard was gone. I thought someone had stolen it, but he had taken it to a shop for repair. Luckily, it wouldn't be ready for the ride home! Yes, something to celebrate.
After Kittery, we returned to New Hampshire, and we decided to go to the newly opened British Beer Company. Yup, Weasil thought I needed a "mini trip to da UK" and this place was to be that trip. But first, we needed to find a parking space. He wanted to park on the street near the place, so we rode around and couldn't find any other place but the 15-minute parking. So, ever onward, every street was a one-way, so we kept having to take rights away from it. We got further and further away until we finally found a street we could make a left on. We discussed going back to the parking garage a block away from the BBC. Somehow, we managed to make nothing but lefts until we got back to the garage. Only this time, we got in line to find the garage was full, and we had to back out, which took a lot of time, considering we had three cars behind us.
I started looking for parking on the street, but Weasil pulled into another entrance to the same garage! I was like WTF? But this time he got in! But then the Dyslexia took hold because there was no parking space open on that lower level.
"We need us to go, uppy," he informed me as he whizzed around, passing another Mini Cooper that had taken one parking space that you could have fit two of the same vehicle in. I pointed this out to him as we passed it for the second time, then the third, and then the fourth, when I finally asked him what he was doing.
"We have passed that Mini four times. I don't need a tour of the parking garage. Why aren't you going up?" I asked him as the Mini came up for the fifth time.
"Cuz I can't seem ta findie me da ramp UP!"
Oi! We took a left, thinking we were going up this time, but when I saw the Mini for the sixth time, I knew we had missed the turn somehow. I don't know how many times we rode past the parked Mini because I lost count. At one point, I told Weasil to drop me next to the damn thing so he could keep "touring" the parking garage, and I would wave every time he went by. I tell ya!
Finally, somehow I saw the ramp-up and directed it to his attention and up we started, but we went all the way to the top at an alarming rate of speed, the excuse being no need to look in the lower levels there would be nothing, but on top, there would be spaces and yes, he was correct. As we shot up to the very top level, there in front of us, next to the barrier was a space and zoom in we went, me screaming to "BRAKE, DAMN YOU BRAKE, OR WE WILL BE FLYING OVER THE SIDE!" And he did, with me seat belt saving me from contact with the front windshield. He thought it funny, but what if he lost his brakes? Yeah, then where would we be? I wanted to throw his laughing self over the side.
But it did not end there. I had scraped me knee on the dashboard at the abrupt stop, so when I got me long self out of the Mini, I was limping like a son of a gun. I looked around for the elevator; there was one next to us, but as Fate would have it, it was boarded up. So we started walking and as we got into the roofed area, Weasil said he saw stairs just ahead. The open daylight he saw as stairs were openings between graduating levels of the upper tier. Which meant no stairs but a drop-off down seven stories. I hit him upside the back of the head for that and saw an elevator 100 yards down and that's where I limped to cursing his arse the entire way.
Once inside, I pushed the button for the first level, which was the street. Only we went down, down, down to the basement level where what should greet us upon door opening, but that very same Mini-Cooper we had passed a hundred times before. Nothing was said, we exchanged knowing looks, and the doors closed as I pressed the button again. This time we went to parking level six, one below where we started, and an old lady got on. She pushed the button before I could, for the Basement Level. And once again, we floated on down and there it was, that Mini as the doors slid open.
"Ya think she doesn't realise she ain't at da street?" Weasil said to me, watching the woman hobble into the garage.
"I don't know, and I don't much care at the moment," I said, pushing the button for the street level one more time. We made it. I don't know how we did it, but we did. As we were walking toward the BBC, who did we see hobbling 20 yards ahead? The old lady. We were both gobsmacked. How she did that, we don't know. While we were riding up and down the elevator, she had found a way OUT.
Anyway, we got to the Brit Beer Company. It was good. They had a nice selection of British ales and beers, and we ordered our drinks served up with Cajun chips, which was weird, but they were tasty nonetheless. Not exactly British, but well . . . So we looked at the menu, and I ordered bangers and mash with bubble and squeak, and Weasil was going to order the Shepherd's Pie, but it was made with ground beef.
"Huh," he said to the waitress, "Dissy here is cottage pie. I ain't known no shepherds, shepherding cows."
"No, that's Shepherds Pie." She told his British arse in her American accent.
I instantly had deja vu of a breakfast place I had gone to that served Irish Breakfast, but it wasn't anything like an Irish Breakfast. When I corrected the waitress, she argued with me. I didn't know what I was talking about, even if I was from Ireland and brought up on authentic Irish breakfasts. But Weasil didn't care, he wasn't in the mood to correct a rather glaring mistake, and why?
"Because," he said, "Americans dunt know da difference anyhowz."
True, but won't those same Americans who book a trip to the UK be surprised when ordering the real thing to find it has lamb in it? Not everyone likes lamb, but well, as Weasil said, not our problem. But it gets better, I got me bangers and mash AND sweet baked beans to pour over them. This has happened to me once before in an American Irish Pub, and it was an unpleasant taste. Here it was again! Who does that? Well, I put them aside so as not to spoil the taste of the bangers, and it was not until after the meal that I realised I was served steamed veggies, not bubble and squeak! I tell ya! The place is billed as a British eatery and serves American food masquerading as British. Oi!
R. Linda:
There has to be a mental illness that the Weasil has that hasn't been classified yet. I know he has one. What other explanation is there?
Have you ever noticed the fact that Weasil cannot seem to sit still? Not even for half a minute, no, no, the scamp be up and about and always doing something. Some things range from behaving to mostly getting into trouble. And when it's trouble he finds, it doesn't affect him at all that others are unhappy with him. He thrives on other people's energy as well. For example, he will arrive at a normal person's abode filled to the brim with spastic energy. Before that person knows it, he is being whisked out the door and into some totally unexpected and unimagined mayhem. These episodes I have classed as Mr. Toad's wild rides, or in this case, Mr. Weasil's.
What is this disorder? Well, I be no doctor, but I think the Weasil is bipolar to a degree. What other explanation could there be for this behaviour? Though me wife jeers the Weasil is manic-spastic, whatever that means.
The only problem with MY diagnosis would be that Weasil never seems to swing from the energy side to the low energy side of the mood and energy pendulums. He is forever on a happy high with life (I know you are thinking drugs) and never really gets down. If you tell him someone has passed away, he's sympathetic, but it never lasts for long before a joke comes bubbling out of his mouth. I think that is needed to pull the rest of us out of the doldrums. But still.
Take, for example, this very week, I had two friends pass away while the Weasil was still at me house. He insisted on going to one of the funerals. We were standing graveside, and the minister was saying things like, "Frederick, your family is mourning you, but I know you want them to remember what a wonderful family man you were, but you were much more. I think all of us want those left after our passing to say in remembrance what a good person we were and what a difference we made in their lives." And Weasil whispered to me, "An I wanna say, 'Hey! Look, he's still moving!'"
That be a fine example of Weasil humour, inappropriate as it was, I tell ya! He sets you up in a dark, mournful atmosphere, then hits one between the eyes with a zinger.
It seems to be one manic episode after another with the young whippersnapper. He's always getting himself and anyone he has along for the ride into some kind of trouble. He can't help it. Me worst nightmare is being in his company and Captain Jaack's at the same time. I am hopelessly useless when this occurs. It turns into a one-upmanship competition and can be fast and furious. I have made a note to meself NOT to engage in any situation that requires them both in the room at the same time, especially if they both are dressed as pirates. If it was Wolfie, at least I know I have an ally in the same thinking on the Weasil . . . but with less patience.
Earlier this week, Weasil arrived at me abode to drag me protesting self off for what has become the Tri-State Tour. It used to be Dragon, who, along with me wife, would have me drive them for an annual trip to Kittery, Maine. Not being from here, and as the designated driver, I, for the first three years, would drive from New Hampshire to Maine to Massachusetts, the last not being part of the trip. It became known as Gabe's Annual Tri-State Tour.
Well, the Weasil got wind of not so much the "tour" but the trip to Kittery. He went up there on his own and had a wonderful time. He took his sidekick that crazy Scot, Rabby Kincaid with him the next time, and then the following year, they dragged my arse up there with them, and to make me comfortable with the trip, drove me to Massachusetts just to relive the experience. I tell ya, I did not find it funny. It took twice as long to get home and away from both of them, and I was well on me way to becoming a crazy person, okay, crazier person. So this year, Weasil was threatening me with a trip to Kittery AGAIN.
He arrived in Rabby's car, Rabby being under the weather. Now Rabby be a big beefy type, so his choice of car was a surprise -- he drives a Mini-Cooper. How he gets his 200 lb. self in that thing, I have notta clue. How he would be comfortable driving it is just astounding. But that's what he drives. And there it was in me driveway, bright red with a British flag painted on top, and something else on top, Weasil's surfboard! I stood there looking at it holding me cup of joe.
"That's what we are taking?" I asked Weasil.
"Yup, yup, yuppers!" Weasil grinned.
"That looks ridiculous. Why don't we take me Saturn?" I asked.
"Because ya nevah been in a Mini an it drives quite nicely, AND I havta droppie off da surfie boardie," said he.
"It's terribly small and you and I are both over 6 feet tall, so how'd ya think THAT comfy?" I asked, staring at the tiny mobile.
"I drove it here dint I? I don't look any worse for it." He did a turn so I could see all of him, front, sides and back.
I sighed. Okay, there was nothing to do but jam our tall selves in, and we did. The front seat is surprisingly roomy, so it's not bad, but still, I couldn't see how Rabby squeezed himself behind the wheel.
In me consternation about fitting in that small vehicle, I had forgotten the surfboard strapped to the top. However, it didn't take long to remember it as we hit the highway. Suddenly, we were airborne, and I was totally confused, with a good fright thrown in.
"Wha . . . wha . . . be happening?" I said, holding on to the dashboard with two hands as the vehicle's front end lifted off the ground.
"Oh, it's just da surfie boardie has shifted to aeroplane wing position." Weasil threw at me casually.
"WHAT?"
"Itz okie dokie cuz it won't fall offie."
"I don't care if it isn't falling off, but we are almost airborne, stop and fix it. We can't drive down a major highway with WINGS!"
So he did, he pulled the Mini over and readjusted the straps. That position lasted for about ten minutes before we were lifting off again! I tell ya the Weasil is more than a piece of work, he's certifiable and if there is any question as to why, THIS IS IT! Only this time, I didn't have to tell him to pull over because Officer Mercer of the law did that. Weasil was issued a warning and feigned contrition until the officer left. Then, once again, on the road, lift-off occurred, and we were pulled over AGAIN. This time by a state trooper. This officer was not as lovely as the last one. He was all for a Breathalyser test for the Weasil. Of course, zippy Mr. W passed it and was issued another warning. Once again we start off and we make it to the expansion bridge between New Hampshire and Maine when you guessed it, we were more than slightly off the ground, we were freaking flying with the air current as other vehicles were avoiding us.
I started berating him, and he told me he couldn't stop on a bridge. Well, it's true that there was no place to go but down, but in our case, it was up! Somehow, we flopped to the other side of the bridge and made it to the Kittery exit without law enforcement.
We had to park at the very back of the first parking lot we got to because of the Mini Cooper's "wingspan." I almost beheaded meself when I got out, forgetting the board was lying horizontally to the roof instead of vertically along the length of the Mini.
I wanted to hit Weasil over the head for stupidity, and he knew I was short of a fury when he informed me the black crows of Calvin Klein had spied me arse in their parking lot.
"He's backie!" He called to them, and sure enough, there they were. You don't know how quickly the temper left me for the focus on those salespersons whom I had got the best of the last time out. Now they were standing there pointing and laughing at me ride. Was the temper starting to boil? It was, and Weasil was no help. He acted as if he were sending me off to war with Calvin Klein by straightening me shirt collar and sending me in their direction. I made like I was walking straight for their door, but instead made a quick right into J. Crew instead. I had the satisfaction of seeing that when they saw me coming, they all disappeared behind their clothing racks. Yup, they did.
I was joined by Weasil sometime later, which had me worried about what trouble he had been brewing on his own. When we got back to the Mini, the surfboard was gone. I thought someone had stolen it, but he had taken it to a shop for repair. Luckily, it wouldn't be ready for the ride home! Yes, something to celebrate.
After Kittery, we returned to New Hampshire, and we decided to go to the newly opened British Beer Company. Yup, Weasil thought I needed a "mini trip to da UK" and this place was to be that trip. But first, we needed to find a parking space. He wanted to park on the street near the place, so we rode around and couldn't find any other place but the 15-minute parking. So, ever onward, every street was a one-way, so we kept having to take rights away from it. We got further and further away until we finally found a street we could make a left on. We discussed going back to the parking garage a block away from the BBC. Somehow, we managed to make nothing but lefts until we got back to the garage. Only this time, we got in line to find the garage was full, and we had to back out, which took a lot of time, considering we had three cars behind us.
I started looking for parking on the street, but Weasil pulled into another entrance to the same garage! I was like WTF? But this time he got in! But then the Dyslexia took hold because there was no parking space open on that lower level.
"We need us to go, uppy," he informed me as he whizzed around, passing another Mini Cooper that had taken one parking space that you could have fit two of the same vehicle in. I pointed this out to him as we passed it for the second time, then the third, and then the fourth, when I finally asked him what he was doing.
"We have passed that Mini four times. I don't need a tour of the parking garage. Why aren't you going up?" I asked him as the Mini came up for the fifth time.
"Cuz I can't seem ta findie me da ramp UP!"
Oi! We took a left, thinking we were going up this time, but when I saw the Mini for the sixth time, I knew we had missed the turn somehow. I don't know how many times we rode past the parked Mini because I lost count. At one point, I told Weasil to drop me next to the damn thing so he could keep "touring" the parking garage, and I would wave every time he went by. I tell ya!
Finally, somehow I saw the ramp-up and directed it to his attention and up we started, but we went all the way to the top at an alarming rate of speed, the excuse being no need to look in the lower levels there would be nothing, but on top, there would be spaces and yes, he was correct. As we shot up to the very top level, there in front of us, next to the barrier was a space and zoom in we went, me screaming to "BRAKE, DAMN YOU BRAKE, OR WE WILL BE FLYING OVER THE SIDE!" And he did, with me seat belt saving me from contact with the front windshield. He thought it funny, but what if he lost his brakes? Yeah, then where would we be? I wanted to throw his laughing self over the side.
But it did not end there. I had scraped me knee on the dashboard at the abrupt stop, so when I got me long self out of the Mini, I was limping like a son of a gun. I looked around for the elevator; there was one next to us, but as Fate would have it, it was boarded up. So we started walking and as we got into the roofed area, Weasil said he saw stairs just ahead. The open daylight he saw as stairs were openings between graduating levels of the upper tier. Which meant no stairs but a drop-off down seven stories. I hit him upside the back of the head for that and saw an elevator 100 yards down and that's where I limped to cursing his arse the entire way.
Once inside, I pushed the button for the first level, which was the street. Only we went down, down, down to the basement level where what should greet us upon door opening, but that very same Mini-Cooper we had passed a hundred times before. Nothing was said, we exchanged knowing looks, and the doors closed as I pressed the button again. This time we went to parking level six, one below where we started, and an old lady got on. She pushed the button before I could, for the Basement Level. And once again, we floated on down and there it was, that Mini as the doors slid open.
"Ya think she doesn't realise she ain't at da street?" Weasil said to me, watching the woman hobble into the garage.
"I don't know, and I don't much care at the moment," I said, pushing the button for the street level one more time. We made it. I don't know how we did it, but we did. As we were walking toward the BBC, who did we see hobbling 20 yards ahead? The old lady. We were both gobsmacked. How she did that, we don't know. While we were riding up and down the elevator, she had found a way OUT.
Anyway, we got to the Brit Beer Company. It was good. They had a nice selection of British ales and beers, and we ordered our drinks served up with Cajun chips, which was weird, but they were tasty nonetheless. Not exactly British, but well . . . So we looked at the menu, and I ordered bangers and mash with bubble and squeak, and Weasil was going to order the Shepherd's Pie, but it was made with ground beef.
"Huh," he said to the waitress, "Dissy here is cottage pie. I ain't known no shepherds, shepherding cows."
"No, that's Shepherds Pie." She told his British arse in her American accent.
I instantly had deja vu of a breakfast place I had gone to that served Irish Breakfast, but it wasn't anything like an Irish Breakfast. When I corrected the waitress, she argued with me. I didn't know what I was talking about, even if I was from Ireland and brought up on authentic Irish breakfasts. But Weasil didn't care, he wasn't in the mood to correct a rather glaring mistake, and why?
"Because," he said, "Americans dunt know da difference anyhowz."
True, but won't those same Americans who book a trip to the UK be surprised when ordering the real thing to find it has lamb in it? Not everyone likes lamb, but well, as Weasil said, not our problem. But it gets better, I got me bangers and mash AND sweet baked beans to pour over them. This has happened to me once before in an American Irish Pub, and it was an unpleasant taste. Here it was again! Who does that? Well, I put them aside so as not to spoil the taste of the bangers, and it was not until after the meal that I realised I was served steamed veggies, not bubble and squeak! I tell ya! The place is billed as a British eatery and serves American food masquerading as British. Oi!
| Me Bangers & Mash with baked beans & steamed Veggies |
But Weasil had an interesting culinary experience with his faux Shepherd's Pie. Besides the beef and veggies, the potato topping had cheese mixed in. Now, Weasil hates cheese. And it was heavy on the cheese, I noticed. When I saw it, I knew instantly, but Weasil, not being a connoisseur of cheese, couldn't figure out what the taste was.
"Dissy, here stringy stuffins' looks like cheese." He said, pulling a long cheesy strand up with his fork and figuring it out.
"Oh, that's not cheese, it's a filler to hold the ground beef together," I lied.
"Are ya sure? It lookies like cheesie ta me." He said, still holding the string aloft. "It ain't pot cheese, it be sum kinda cheddar. Who duz dat?"
But he ate it anyway.
"Dissy, here stringy stuffins' looks like cheese." He said, pulling a long cheesy strand up with his fork and figuring it out.
"Oh, that's not cheese, it's a filler to hold the ground beef together," I lied.
"Are ya sure? It lookies like cheesie ta me." He said, still holding the string aloft. "It ain't pot cheese, it be sum kinda cheddar. Who duz dat?"
But he ate it anyway.
Now, me Mam makes cottage pie with the required ground beef, and she tops her potatoes with cheddar cheese, as is traditional in Ireland. However, there is no cheese on a shepherd's pie or beef. I have no clue how they make it in Scotland, but obviously, the Weasil doesn't partake. Shepherd's pie is an unusual mix of beef, cheese, potatoes, and mystery vegetables in America.
Once back at the parking garage, we rode the elevator from the basement to just before our floor and back down again—three freaking times this happened! Finally, we made it to the roof, and Weasil couldn't remember where he parked the car. The reason he couldn't remember was that he had, for some reason, had it in his head that he was looking for his red Mustang, completely slipping his mind about what he was really driving.
Well, I pointed out the Mini and it all came back to him, SIGH, and off we went. I was sitting back with a full tum thinking how lovely it would be to go home when I noticed the Welcome to Massachusetts sign. That got me straight up in my seat, where I banged me knee again!
"Where are you going?" I shouted disturbed.
"I needies me a cup a coffee an' so we's goin' ta-da bestie Dunks in Mass."
Oh, I knew exactly where we were going, yup, I did. Salisbury, Massachusetts, and there it was, THIS:
| Weasil's Shepherds' Pie AKA Cottage Pie (with cheese) |
Once back at the parking garage, we rode the elevator from the basement to just before our floor and back down again—three freaking times this happened! Finally, we made it to the roof, and Weasil couldn't remember where he parked the car. The reason he couldn't remember was that he had, for some reason, had it in his head that he was looking for his red Mustang, completely slipping his mind about what he was really driving.
Well, I pointed out the Mini and it all came back to him, SIGH, and off we went. I was sitting back with a full tum thinking how lovely it would be to go home when I noticed the Welcome to Massachusetts sign. That got me straight up in my seat, where I banged me knee again!
"Where are you going?" I shouted disturbed.
"I needies me a cup a coffee an' so we's goin' ta-da bestie Dunks in Mass."
Oh, I knew exactly where we were going, yup, I did. Salisbury, Massachusetts, and there it was, THIS:
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| The Mecca of Massachusetts |
I tell ya! Going to Massachusetts despite a protest just to prove it was a bona fide TRI-State Tour, not a DUO one, is the WHY of this. He just had to do it. He could not let me relax in peace and enjoy a nice ride home. NO, we had another stop, and this was it, in another state, where the state we had been in was filled with Dunkin Donut places!
We spent a long time inside that Dunks. He just meandered around sipping on his coffee. Then he'd order a single doughnut and meander some more, go back and buy another doughnut, get his coffee freshened and meander around the place looking at the poster-size adverts for Dunkin Donuts like he was in an art gallery. That I made it home by 5 was just shy of a miracle. I left him at me house while I went to pick up the kiddos from Lego Club. When I returned, the Weasil had whipped up a large cottage pie (no cheese) and two banana cream pies. How he did that within 15 minutes, I have notta clue, though I suspect he didn't make any of that but had it delivered from somewhere.
It was nice of him, or was he buttering me up for something else I didn't expect? That is the vexing question because Weasil just happens, any time of the day or night. One never knows. What was it Wolfie said? Oh yes, on seeing the young whippersnapper coming towards us, he said, "Gabe, something wicked this way comes." Yup.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
We spent a long time inside that Dunks. He just meandered around sipping on his coffee. Then he'd order a single doughnut and meander some more, go back and buy another doughnut, get his coffee freshened and meander around the place looking at the poster-size adverts for Dunkin Donuts like he was in an art gallery. That I made it home by 5 was just shy of a miracle. I left him at me house while I went to pick up the kiddos from Lego Club. When I returned, the Weasil had whipped up a large cottage pie (no cheese) and two banana cream pies. How he did that within 15 minutes, I have notta clue, though I suspect he didn't make any of that but had it delivered from somewhere.
It was nice of him, or was he buttering me up for something else I didn't expect? That is the vexing question because Weasil just happens, any time of the day or night. One never knows. What was it Wolfie said? Oh yes, on seeing the young whippersnapper coming towards us, he said, "Gabe, something wicked this way comes." Yup.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
do wish i lived in the eastern part of canada. i would meet up with you two on your next trip into insanity. what are you both like? lol
ReplyDeleteOi! I be glad you are in the western part of it. No offence but Weasil be more than a handful. You do know I don't live in the eastern part of Canada unless you are one of those Canadians that think New England is part of Canada?
DeleteLMAO
ReplyDeletecould Weasil be 40 per cent human, and the rest a mix of caffeine and sugar? Flying in a Mini, sounds like fun!LMAO
Lol. Mini Coopers can be a challenge for the tallest of men. One of your other followers has experienced that first hand. I owned one once when I lived in England but then I be a lot shorter than you lot! Funny story
ReplyDelete