First thing every morning after pissing: he steps on the scale, waits for it to register, curses it, he steps off the scale; he steps on the scale, waits for it to register, curses it, he steps off the scale; he steps on the scale, waits for it to register, curses it, he steps off the scale; then he gets on with the rest of his day, stuffing his face throughout most of it.
Peekaboo?
Last night, over the phone, Cindi told me that her Coke was looking at her. I didn’t ask how an aluminum can might’ve sprouted an eyeball. Instead, like any protective beau, I threatened it. “Quit looking at my girlfriend!” I shouted. “She’s waaaay outta your league! And besides, you don’t exist to… to ogle your consumer! You have one job: Contain!” The can offered neither appeal nor apology. So, through clenched teeth, I issued this warning: “Keep it up, buster, and I’ll crush you flat under my shoe!” In sooth, I said none of that. What I actually said was, “What?” Cindi told me to “never mind.” But I pressed her and, finally, she disclosed what I thought I heard her say. Was the eyeball, I asked, giving her an inquisitive look? The famed " evil " or " stink " eye, perhaps? Might it be a look of surprise? Or fear? No, she told me. It was merely looking at her, with no particular look. “Ah. Well. Good !” I said. “Gives me something to jot down