In anticipation of the end of the world, my wife and I have decided that it might be prudent to eat an extra piece of chocolate this evening.
The title of this post refers to an anecdote about Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuit order. One evening Loyola, while shooting pool, was confronted by an outraged novice who wondered what Loyola would do if he knew that the world would end in ten minutes? Without missing a beat Loyola replied, “Finish the pool game.”
My husband was a pool shark in his youth. I like pool. It can be terribly frustrating.
I’m drinking extra beer, but that’s because I’m stuck in an airport. I hope I at least reach my destination before the world ends.
Stuck in an airport sucks.
I’ve been twice. Once in Oregon and once in China. Hours and hours.
Then there was the year my mother died. That was Dallas. I could have walked home in the time it took to get out of that one. Delta.
Shooting pool was practically a requirement for graduation from my high school. The basement, used as a sort of large rec room, had 12 pool tables.
It also contained a firing range.
I really would like to learn how to shoot. At targets. Not people or animals.
Would you say that my Irish is up?
Here , Hon, have a cordial.
We Communists have to stick together, too.
The joke is all in the setup.
I was having some wine with a friend at the Mayor’s House in Dallas and a huge cockroach came crawling across my shoulder. I didn’t notice. I was wearing a jacket.
Flicked that sucker off.
What’s next?
I found my business clothes when the kids decamped.
I mean business.
Get it ?
You’re a champ, Uncle Dave.
Dammit, I’m back to AT &T.
Can I ever get away from Ma Bell?
And Candy loves the oranges.
So maybe all airports need a pool hall. Nice way to while away a few hours.