I found myself imprisoned and without a cook at work for this- the day of the first Vikings game. It is becoming glaringly clear to me that in this world, there are exactly 3 people who are willing to bust their butt in the world of employment. (Me, Myself, and I) The rest are just mere names attatched to phantom beings that only show up to work when they have nothing better to do. So, while I was missing a chance to serenade my church family with my jazzy pianist hands and awe them with my bedazzled footwear, I was instead rushing around in a blustery panic preparing for a pizza storm that never came.
Around two oclock this afternoon, I escaped the Pizza Hell and returned to the loving and waiting presence of my Rockstar and his Daughter. One of the only benfits of living in the outskirts of a city known as St. Cloud is that there resides nearby a lovely Catholic-based college named St. John’s University. It is ensconced in a large clump of trees that is quite lovely to jaunt through. So off my Beloveds and I went to peruse the near-fall colors that grace our almost-neighborhood.
How exciting it was to cross the wooden bridge that overpasses the major highway near St. John’s. The Daughter squealed in rapture every time a trucker passed under and blew his horn. Every time, I wondered if there would be accidents caused if I were to lift my shirt and do a happy dance for those same truckers.
Onto the forested path we continued, being bypassed several time by youngling college boys without shirts who were training for track or football or some other disgusting form of physical exertion. As each one passed, I thought to myself, “Too youngtooyoungtooyoung OH! Much too hairy.” It’s quite disturbing really how someone who looks so young can so resemble an emaciated ape. To be clear, I wasn’t looking for something on the side- just making observations.
We walked yet further, discovering a beautiful lake that the college had much rudely kept hidden for its own recreational purposes. We snickered when two more track stars blatantly disregarded the posted sign that stated “No Swimming” and plunged into the icy depths in only their too-short running shorts.
We passed a beautifully manicured garden area marked “Private Monastic Prayer Grounds :Keep Out” that came complete with a tiny stone cottage. While I pondered to myself the thought that it was very selfish of the monkish people to keep the most gorgeous part of campus to themselves, my Rockstar asked the question, “What is it they need privacy for?” To which I replied with naught but a crude and graceless hand gesture that my Rockstar burst out laughing at. He rambled on then with a grand idea of how we should switch all the signs to “Private Masturbatory Prayer Gounds” or “MOANastic Area”. I giggled.
After walking amongst the aged buildings covered in ivy, I decided that I may have indeed missed out by not going to college. No- not because I lack the knowledge that I surely would have gained there- because I most certainly am more intelligent and well-learned than most college students I’ve known, but because I missed the daily chance to trek to the Food Building which sports woodwork created by none other than my very own Rockstar.
On the path as we journeyed home, we passed a dead mole. I was immediately enthralled by the fact that he hadn’t a face, which caused the curiousness to rise in my Rockstar’s Daughter, which resulted in him admonishing us both not to “get too close to that gross thing!” Once again, as we walked the overpass, I contemplated pulling up my shirt and flashing the horny truckers below a glimpse of my excessive sweater meat, but thought better of it. All in all, it was a wondrous day. Even with the mole.