Fatty Wear

I’m reading many posts on the www.fatcyclist.com blog about fans receiving their 2010 Fatty wear, my heart is beginning to pound.  Yipee!  My Fatty wear must be here too!

Unfortunately, when the cat is away, this mouse never remembers to check the mail.  Eeek! I’d better get the mail.

Sliding over to the heavy wooden door, I hear the click of the bolt lock retreating into the door.  I turn the door knob and hold my breath hoping the creak of the door won’t wake the boys.

Swish.

Huh, there isn’t any creak tonight.  I wonder how I can make that a permanent situation?  Oh, I’d probably have to ship the door to live in Arizona where there is never any humidity.  Wait. Focus.. Fatty wear… mailbox…right!

Under the cover of night and a very bright front porch light, in my gray ratty robe, red fleecy pj pants, and hand knitted old lady foot blankies (aka slippers), I leap onto the damp grass and sprint to the mailbox.  I stop breathing while I grasp the handle of the mailbox.

~~~~~~~~ (squiggly lines of day dreaming)~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll wake up at 5 am to run a 10K in my 2010 Fatty wear runner’s shirt, I fantasize.  I’ll take fabulous pictures of the mouse running on the hamster wheel.  I envision artistic quality pictures that will grant me fame and fortune as a marvelous blogger.  I’ll get more than five people reading my blog.

————-(straight lines bringing back reality)——————-

My mailbox has nothing more than a stack of bills and political propaganda.  Oh, man.  Where’s my Fatty wear??

Through the stately pine trees of the ancient lady’s house on the corner, I hear a noise akin to a werewolf on the prowl for a plump ol’ meal (me).  With speed that would make that werewolf envious, I cross the road, the yard, and the porch to yank the door open and jump inside slamming the door shut and jam the bolt lock into place.  It was more like a coyote call from the nearby prairie preservation, I tell myself as I take deep breaths to settle the shaking in my hands and arms.

Then I remembered that the local Lion’s club is setting up a haunted hike in the park and was most likely practicing their wolf calls.

Still, through the anticipation of fatty wear and the fear of werewolves, my heart rate was elevated for at least 15 minutes.  That has to be a 75-100 calories burn, right?

.

.

.

Later that night, a peculiar shape slips past a half dead blue spruce causing several branches to drop a significant number of needles on top of an already heaping pile.  The shadow of this thing passing in the night looks almost like a human bent at an odd angles.  The thing tears at a white package.

“These cursed new age packaging materials with synthetic tear resistant fibers,” it growls as it takes a corner of the package into its mouth.  After some time, the synthetic fibers finally give way to the gagged teeth of this peculiarly shaped thing.  A knarled and bent hand reaches into the package to reveal a coveted shirt.  It bends its head back and howls, “Yahoooo!  Fatty-eeeeee!”  Quickly, it quiets down so that it does not wake the beings inside the house because it knows the mouse will fight the demons of hell themselves to get her Fatty wear (designed by Twin Six) back.   Having found what it came for, it runs off through the stately pines into the woods.

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Filed under fiction, personality flaws

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