The Mrs. just sent me an email advising it'll be a cerveza night. I'm down with that. Tough week.
NASCAR from Bristol this week. Tomorrow night. Now this is racing. I love short tracks, the bumping, grinding, and trading paint brings me back to the old days, when NASCAR was good. 7:30 tomorrow night on TNT.
Well, that's if we get through Shellhead's wedding tomorrow afternoon without incident. Shellhead works for the shop next door to ours, a good kid. Problem is, he invited all of us. If you've ever been to a wedding (or any other function) with Harry, Indian, and me together, you know what I mean. Dead Ed has other shit to do so he won't be there. The bright side is we'll have adult supervision. Our wives learned long ago not to let us out without a monitor. Safer for all concerned that way. Mrs. Harry, Mrs. Indian, and Mrs. F. will be accompanying us and watching us like hawks. Like they always do, my wife and Mrs. Indian will make sure Indian and I are separated (they sit between us).
That means I have to get a haircut in the morning along with some shoppping the Mrs. has to do. Hey, we're leaving Friday and she has to be prepared. Oy! So Saturday's shot and Sunday . . . probably a hangover day. Wow, I guess I should shave too.
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