Skip to main content

A Tale of Mystee-ry and Indigo Intrigue


His day started pretty much the same as any other day. He roused himself from a deep sleep around 7am, sat up, took his pills and checked his blood sugar. Quietly, he pulled on his pajama bottoms and tip toes out of the bedroom, making his way downstairs to the family room.

He opened his computer and powered up and flicked on the television and clicked the remote until he landed on the all news channel.

He checked his blog comments and scrolled through Facebook, then played a game or two of solitaire on his laptop.

His wife arose - sleeping-in a bit because she was on holidays - stepped to the kitchen and made them a wonderful breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and bagels.

Neither was aware of the sense of foreboding that was building. Or the five or six boding, for that matter.

After breakfast, he cleaned up the dishes from breakfast and dinner the night before, emptied the dishwasher and then told his wife, "I'm going to take my shower." Unheard by either of them a Hitchcockian soundtrack started up, accompanying his undressing, his turning on of the water and the beginning of his soaping up. And then he farted. Did you ever fart in the shower? It kinda kills the moment. He quickly rinsed off, stepped out, towelled off, combed his hair brushed his teeth and stepped into his underwear and summer shorts.

All of a sudden that soundtrack started up again and it made him hesitate as he reached for the closet door. A voice in his mind said, "Don't open that door, don't open that door...and then like all horror movies he'd ever seen, he did.

Oh my God, he was nearly out of t-shirts. T-shirts, you see, formed the bulk of his wardrobe other than golf and Hawaiian shirts. He stepped back out of the closet in shock. He had no special plans that day so he found an old Ragged Ass Road - Northwest Territories tee and slipped into it. That's the logo on the shirt, not the condition it's in.

And then a miracle occurred. While in the shower his wife had checked the mail. Talk about coincidence, there was a package addressed to him. And in the package was...


...a gift from his blogging buddy Indigo Roth, all the way from Jolly Old England. He thought maybe Indigo was so moved by the birth of Prince George he sent tees he'd designed to folks all over the world. Thanks, Indigo, he said to himself, what a great guy...and so talented too.

On the tee Indigo had drawn a Sharp Dressed Cat. And he mused to himself, "Now I will be too."

Comments

Indigo Roth said…
Ah Dufus, you're welcome. I hope it's a good fit? I was delighted I could defuse the Hitchockian soundtrack with your wife's assistance. And yes, get it one for a shameless selfie so we know what a sharp-dressed cat you are. The public has a right to know! And oooooh, designing an Hawaiian shirt might be fun... Indigo
nonamedufus said…
We just watched Hitchcock which focussed on the making of Psycho. So that scene was fresh in my mind. Thanks again for the shirt, Indigo. I shall wear it often. You design a Hawaiian shirt, I'll buy it.
Debra She Who Seeks said…
Is that simply a cat or is it the Imperial Lion himself? Either way -- nice.
nonamedufus said…
Well, he's British so I'm assuming he's imperial.
Boom Boom Larew said…
What a stunning tee... I believe I have one just like it. It's like we're all members of The Cult of King!
nonamedufus said…
You mean we're like royalty?
Indigo Roth said…
You are indeed, John
Indigo Roth said…
You're damned right he's imperial! There's a slightly clearer piccy of him here: Click me!.
nonamedufus said…
Gosh...and I'm not even a big fan of the monarchy. Now that I'm a member I may have to change my tune. God save the Queen.
nonamedufus said…
Hey, I've gotta shirt just like that!

Popular posts from this blog

Tales From The Supermarket

Bob and Brenda worked in the supermarket. They weren't check-out clerks. And they weren't stock-boys. Brenda sure wasn't. And they weren't employees who worked in the fish section or the deli. No. They were on the shelves.

They hadn't been on the shelves very long but in that short time they'd developed a considerably close friendship.

The chatted all day when the store was busy and at night when the store was closed. They talked about everything. The talked about what raw products they came from. The talked about their manufacturing processes. And they talked about the long routes in semi-trailers that brought them to this store.

Oddly enough the one thing they never made clear to one another was just what product each of them was.

One day when Brenda was commenting on their friendship she told Bob she was grateful for their amity. "Are you Tea?" said Bob, pekoe-ing her way. "I thought I was Tea". You're coffee!"

This week's Tw…

My Back Pages - November

I read five books last month bringing my year to date total to 61, well past the 50 I estimated at the beginning of the year. And I've yet to get through December.

The month started out with The Nix, the debut novel by Nathan Hill which has been receiving a lot off positive reviews. In it Hill flips back and fourth from the 1968 Chicago protests and 2011 in a desperate search for the truth behind why his mother abandoned him at an early age. In between Hill takes on politics, the media and addiction as well as other aspects of society. It's a well-spun tale and I quite enjoyed reading it.

Next up was the auto-biographical I Am Brian Wilson of Beach Boys fame. This was somewhat of a scattered affair but an interesting read nonetheless. Wilson - or his ghostwriter - however is no Hemingway.

Then it was on to one of my favourite authors, Ian Rankin and his latest tale of now retired Inspector John Rebus, Rather Be The Devil. I never tire of these stories and this is the 21st in …