Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Pink Shorts

I went out when the fire trucks came. A team of burly firemen in blue shirts rushed in to the building next door with their paramedic equipment. I went out to the sidewalk and admired the big shiny red fire truck. I wondered who was hurt. I went back to my yard and started tearing up weeds while I was waiting. A white ambulance came from Blackstone so I went back down the driveway to see what was happening. Luckily nobody was getting carted away. One of the four fireman returned his heavy blue bag to the side compartment of the truck and noticed me standing there. "Is everyone okay?" I asked. "Everyone is great!" he said smiling, looking like Mr. Gentleman's Quarterly muscular fit and trim in his blue emblemed shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I had just hosed off my head with the garden hose and my hands were covered in mud. "Yeah," I said smiling, "I'm just digging up weeds." "Put them back!" he ordered, and I laughed out loud. He smiled and climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. I smiled too, and turned to go home. I went inside and headed for the bathroom. I took off my slacks, stepped into the empty tub, lathered my legs, and shaved them. I climbed out, looked in the mirror, and decided to put on my shocking pink shorts.

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