What if cows gave root beer instead of milk?

Oh, perish the thought.

I love root beer, a good cold root beer that is, not the caramelized colored water that they try to pass off as a beverage in most places. My love for it is expanding my waist line.

The terror I see in root beer cows is that there would be no more milk to drink, for us. No more milk to drink for baby cows. In one cow generation there would be neither root beer cows or milk cows. They would all die out, as in dead, forever. I like cows. I am sure I would miss them.

In the meanwhile there would be no more ice cream to cool and soothe on a hot summer's day. What would we do for banana splits? How would we ever make a milk shake, in vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, or my favorite flavor butterscotch. We could spend all day cataloging all of the milk shake flavors. Let us just say, there would be none. You could put the syrup in your hand and lick it off, but would that be the same?

The irony would be that without ice cream, you would have a plenitude of root beer yet never be able to make a root beer float. That is as in never, ever ever.

There are other things that are made from cows milk that I would miss. Yogurt, that lovely cool soothing refreshment so loved by dieters all of the time, an the rest of us on a hot summer day, gone. Flan, the traditional Mexican delicacy, gone.

Then there is the real deal breaker. Pizza. Cheese is, in many people's opinion, the key ingredient that makes a pizza pie the fine food that it is. Yes, I know you can make cheese-less pizzas, but they are not the same. I also know that once upon a time, back in antediluvian days, pizza had not even been invented. That was then. This is now. The genie is out of the pizza box, he will not return. We must have pizza. Pizza must have cheese.

I am willing forgo root beer in favor of versatile milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, butter, and other things that cows give us, thank you very much. Fortunately I don't think we will have to make that choice. I can rest tonight, secure in the thought that there will never be a root beer cow.

I hope.

Written in response to a prompt published at http://www.canteach.ca/elementary/prompts.html

Thank you.

Fun at the Mall

I have been recuperating this past week.

I was on my way to the mall for a little jogging and girl watching, actually very little jogging and a lot of girl watching.

I was coming out of the shade of the parking garage into the glare of the sunlight. I could not see well for the glare. I heard a banshee scream right behind me. A high pitched woman's voice called out “George” and a string of curses accusing George of being putrefied, the child of unwed parents, and an indulger in various vulgar, depraved and physically impossible sexual activities. I am not George, but I turned to see what the yelling was about.

While turning I saw small ax swinging my way, seemingly in slow motion. It was a woman with uncombed hair, looking like she hadn't bathed in a very long time. I could not move I was so astonished. All I could do was watch as it swung toward me. I felt it cut into my neck. I remember thinking that I am dead, that this first blow would cut jugular vein and I there is no way I was going to survive that, let alone the next one. I fell taking the ax with me. I could see her crazed eyes open in surprise. “You're not George.” she said. She turned and ran. I don't remember a lot after that. Security guards, a trip to the hospital and a lot of people poking and prodding. It seems that by turning I may have foiled a stroke at the jugular and ending up with a slice in the neck. A number of stitches, a whole lot of forms filled out for police and doctors and I was sent home.

I am going to have a souvenir for a while. No one seems to have any idea who the woman was. I am wondering who George. I am very glad I am not him. I don't think I want to add either one of them to my friends list.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I was asked to submit a “What I Did On My Summer Vacation” piece. Here it is:

My wife and I recently returned from a trip to Florida, ostensibly to visit family. This is a trip that was scheduled for the last week in July, to Florida.

Don't even ask why. I am trying to conceal at least a few levels of insanity from the general public and my friends in particular.

The flight was long and a physically painful agony because of the narrow confines and hard seats. Fortunately that was the only bad part of the trip, except for the absence of our daughter-in-law who was rejected at the US boarder for reasons that arose quite unexpectedly.

I wanted to cancel the trip on the spot, but tickets and room rent had been paid and were non-refundable.

I decided to make the most of it, indulging in a four day Bacchanalian revelry, the details of which are somewhat fuzzy. Palm trees, sand, pelicans, bikinis are in there somewhere.

Yes, my bikini was frowned on. Florida lawmen seem not to have a sense of humor, I mean it was in the palm tree. It had three pieces. What more did they want? Was I supposed to wear it too?

Sand? The airlines fussed when I took a suitcase full through security, but it was fond memories I was carrying after all.

The rest is lost in haze. I am sure my memories are good, I think.

Everyone knows I would not lie about such a thing.