Tuesday, February 15, 2011

And now a few words from my critic

Again, this will be short because my thumb, though better, still hurts when I hit the spacebar.  I've tried typing but using another digit to hit the spacebar, but as I've been typing for 50 years, using my right thumb on the spacebar is pretty much ingrained into my synapses.


Bud decided to read some more of my blog posts the other night and found it necessary to point out several salient points where I erred in my memory.  I, on the other hand, find these to be relatively insignificant, but for the sake of accuracy will make the appropriate corrections.  However, when I snidely suggested to him that quite possibly I should run all my posts through him prior to publishing, he quite seriously replied something to the effect that his memory was better than mine.  I'm not even gonna go there.  We'd just end up in an unwinnable argument, so let him have his moments of glory.  Here are the places where he found issues in my posts:


When he was driving to Baltimore in the rental truck as related in Is God trying to tell me something, it did not break down near South Hill, Virginia but managed to get all the way to near McKenney, Virginia (a distance of approximately some additional 32 miles).  Also, he did not catch a ride with a man he met at a gas station.  He hitched a ride on the highway and the kind man who picked him up drove him to a service station so he could call me.


In the story about Bud trying to cut off his toe which can be found here Second date, I said I thought it was his left big toe he tried to cut off, but, of course, it was his right.


And in this blog post Special Olympics wheelchair racing I mentioned that Bud brought a handpicked bouquet of spring flowers when he came to visit me in the hospital.  He said to me completely out of the blue as we were riding down the interstate just a few days ago, "I don't want to burst your bubble, but Grandmom handpicked those lilacs I brought to you in the hospital."  Burst my bubble?  This guy is too much.  I knew that.  I knew that the day he brought the flowers to me.  I said they were handpicked; I didn't say who picked them.  He is so cute sometimes.


And, if that's all he can find to complain about so far, I guess I'm doing pretty good.  I suppose I should be glad he wasn't around for the first 30 years of my life or I would be back revising my entire history.  I love this man!

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