Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo drove Mrs. R to the airport in his pajamas this morning.  (How she got in my pajamas, I….oh, never mind.)

No, really. She had a very early flight and I didn’t feel like getting dressed, so I just threw on my robe and a coat over it.  It was only after we were under way that I realized just how ridiculous a position I’d be in if I got pulled over or in a fender-bender.  (Ol’ Robbo’s 11th Commandment is “Thou shalt not make a fool of thyself in public.”)

Of course, I say this now.  Give it another couple years I’ll probably be turning up at the supermarket in such a rig. (Not that I haven’t done so before, but it’s different when it’s 3 ack emma and you’re only there because the baby needs some Pedialyte.)

Once the rush hour traffic dies down, I have to go over to the DMV and get my license renewed.  For some reason, I’m just a bit spooked about the eye exam.  I dunno why they ever bother, since paying attention to what’s going on around you on the road seems to be strictly optional these days.  Still, it would be mighty embarrassing to get dinged for that.  (Which see 11th Commandment above.)

And speaking of getting older (which is really what the eye biznay is about, I suppose), here’s a jaw-dropper for you:  It just occurred to me this week that Eldest Gel is now the same age Mrs. Robbo was when she and I met. (January 27, 1990, as a matter of fact.) Gah!  (The Gel landed a gig as assistant stage manager for her school spring theatre production this week, by the bye. They’re doing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. She wasn’t too interested in getting a part this time and decided to concentrate on the tech side.  The production is being directed by the head of the Theatre Department, who just so happened to be Mrs. R’s major advisor 25 years ago.  (Her spring show her sophomore year was The Dining Room.) Double Gah!

UPDATE:  Three hours of mostly sitting about and twiddling my thumbs later, renewal successfully completed. Eye exam turned out not to be a problem a tall.  I’m almost fifty-three years young, dammit!

I have other day-off things too do – haircut, oil change, etc., but I’ve had about enough for now.  Anyway, as things look at the moment, I may have some unexpected free time on my hands next week, so I can take care of that sort of stuff then.  (Although how anyone could possibly imagine “We care more about illegals than about you pond scum” constitutes a winning political message is quite beyond me.)

Going to go walk the dog instead.  (It’s the first really nice day around her in the last week and a half.)