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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!  For those two or three of you together who still come round here, you may be pleased to know that ol’ Robbo has returned home safe and sound after his latest round of biffing about the Midwest.  And yes, I did get caught in the blizzard.  And yes, this makes four straight years in a row I’ve got caught in a Midwestern blizzard.  You would think that by now I had learned to pack boots no matter what the forecasters had said, but then again I suppose that would be too simple.

And speaking of biffing about, the hight point of this most recent jaunt was the visit I paid to Chez Peperium when I had finished my biznay elsewhere.  The plan was that I would drive on down to St. Louis after wrapping things up Thursday morning.  And indeed, just outside of Springfield, I called Mrs. P to let her know I was on my way.  Unfortunately, I forgot to mention that I am a somewhat lead-footed driver even, as was the case Thursday afternoon, with a howling 35 mph cross-wind and great billowing curtains of blowing snow.  I also forgot to mention that I am neurotic about punctuality to the point of near-mania.

Thus, I arrived at Chez Peperium perhaps a bit earlier than Chez Peperium was expecting.  Walking up to the door, I could hear musick playing somewhere in the house.  Reassured that somebody evidently was home, I rang the doorbell.

No response.

I rang again.

Still no response.

I rang about a half-dozen more times, trying to pick times when the musick seemed to be softer.


Pulling out my phone, I dialed up the Peperial phone number.  After a couple of rings (which I could also hear in the house), Mrs. P answered the phone.

“Hi, Robbo! Where are you?”

“Actually, I’m on your front porch.  Could you open the door? It’s cold out here.”

“Oh, I can’t.  I’m naked.  Maybe you should go sit in your car for ten minutes or so.”

“Perhaps I should.”

Yes, nothing makes for a better first impression that catching your hostess in the shower.  No doubt the neighbors are still talking about it.  Fortunately, I believe that Mrs. P waited until I had left yesterday before telling Mr. P the story, as he never confronted me with a horsewhip while I was there.



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January 2012