That's where I entered this cliche and broke it right open.
My nose led me straight to the wide, bright white sideline stripe. I stopped, dropped and rolled. And rolled. And rolled.
When I got up, I looked like Harry the Dirty Dog before he got dirty. Remember that Gene Zion classic? Where he was white with black patches and turned black with white patches, I became a dirtyish kind of gray. So much so that a neighbor thought I had suddenly aged. I am graying, a bit, at the temples, if you look very closely, but really! I'm only five.
Harry and I have a lot in common: we both prefer not to be groomed. However, our escapades ended with the same four-letter word: B-A-T-H.
|Allowed inside again.|