Larry Thack is still waiting for his car tags even though they cashed the check two weeks ago!

At least once a year or so I seem to find myself searching for a birthday gift for my wife. This has gotten more difficult over the years as we’ve progressed into a new stratum of gift-giving and I’m not sure what it is. When we were young, I’d just get “things,” then I’d get shelves and bags to store the “things,” now I suppose she’d rather have “solutions” and “experiences.”
I went down to the natural foods store to see if they had a remedy for her “night-cussing.” For years now she would succumb to episodes where the slightest noise would set her off. She just screams expletives and mixes in some roars of laughter. It’s very witch-like and I’m afraid if word gets out some of the ladies from the church might run her out of the diocese. Anyway, the lady who runs our favorite health store is an expert at kindly telling me how wrong I am all the time. Although many years younger than me she looks much older and thereby feels it’s okay to talk to me like a child. Despite the fact that she exists as the paradigm of pretentiousness, she does possess a broad knowledge of homeopathic tonics and cure-alls. It always takes me a minute to adapt to the obnoxious and unnatural smell of her store. She cooks a stew throughout the day and it makes the whole place smell like a Chinese restaurant’s dumpster just urinated into a corpse sock. Fortunately she knew exactly what I needed and I was allowed to stumble out and vomit on the sidewalk. A bottle of Lavendula angustifolia oil would do the trick! She also recommended a dreamcatcher which I was able to make myself from items I found in and around trashcans at the Peachtree City Wyndham. Incidentally, I find that a top-notch place for scavenging and it also gives me the opportunity to introduce myself and welcome visitors to the area.
Every year I find myself at a jeweler but leave empty-handed. I went to a small jeweler in a strip mall and met an eyeless man who seemed more interested in showing me men’s jewelry. As he showed me his bracelet and accompanying rings he explained how he got the scars on each finger. All of the scars he attributed to the skulls of various people which were credited by name. One scar was from a spill down the stairs right before he was to play golf. We agreed that was the worst. Frightened by the jeweler, I justified that she would only want jewelry to “hock it.” Not for the money, just so she could say, “I had to hock all my jewelry.”
This year feels like it’s going to be pretty low-key. I’ll do the usual things like pick up her prescriptions and leaf-blow her “sitting areas.”