A wooly frost of cloud has dimmed the windows this afternoon. It feels like the breath of an approaching snow. But it's not. It's a teaser meant to raise the hopes of the weak-minded who aren't slaves to the NOAA forecast discussion page.
This morning, at the despicable hour of 5:45, the Mercedes car alarm went off, tearing me awake in a fright. How many seconds was it before my shirtless torso heaved down the porch steps and quieted the neighborhood? Just one second of that racket is too much. Even the dogs were too shocked to bark. I hate that car alarm. The Mercedes is an old beast. A clunker. But it's a tank, and I like the thought of Amanda driving the kids around in a hollowed-out steel ingot. But the mechanics say the alarm is part & parcel of the car. Like the seed from which grows the mighty sequoia--you can't have an ancient Mercedes without the Alarm Pod from which it is born. I hear legends of Mercedes car alarms being deactivated, but apparently, it involves dynamite and a lengthy resurrection ceremony. I'm gonna have to save up a little while for that.
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