...and I did not wet my pants.

I state, I said, I reiterate; I did not wet my pants!!!

And there I was sitting in the Bayview restaurant eating their delicious Bayview burger on ciabatta bread & all of a sudden I felt a wetness running down me. Dag gum it--how many times do I have to say, "I did not wet my pants."  If you'll just hold on, you'll find out why I didn't wet my pants & what was really going on.

It all starts out with physical therapy. Yes, that blasted PT again. I'd finished a grueling session. I don't stay to ice my shoulder, I just take their new & improvised ice bags with me. Well, Melissa & I left there and we made about 2 or 3 stops before getting to the Bayview.

And sitting on my shoulder is this improvised ice bag, cooling down my shoulder. I must say it was a hot day for my little town. And what should happen? The ice bag starts to drip, well not so much just drip; more like the melted ice water ran out of the bag. More likely it ran out of the double-bagged-improvised-ice-bag; down the front of my top--then down my waist, & then down my pants. It was very uncomfortable sitting there being wet upon. I looked at Melissa & said,

"I did not wet my pants."

Melissa managed to signal the waitress & she took the offending ice bag & disposed of the drippy bag for me. Will wonders never cease--she returns to our table with a brand new, unleaky ice bag for my shoulder. How nice of them.

Well my kitties, my luvs, my peeps, I must move on to something else now. Keep up the faith that I did not wet my pants.

            --Glory-oskie Zero, I wish today were tomorrow, luv Fostine.