A day in the so-called-life…

Went to the Red Cross and donated a pint of ‘B pos’. Later realized my blood type doesn’t match my personality. “Really? And what type does?”, you might ask. “Oh”, I would answer, “negative”.

Spent several hours with my other half wandering the “new and improved” Southpark Mall in Charlotte. She had a ‘Fresh Raspberries in Dark Chocolate’ sin from Godiva. I offered to buy her an assortment but she was happy with just the one. I had my usual Starbucks fix. Nothing like the jolt you receive when you are a pint low and you try to replace it with caffeine and chocolate. I carried her purse giving her both arms free to search the shelves and racks but she found nothing she couldn’t live without. Charlotte now has a Nordstrom. The store feature that most impressed me was the live piano music. But there wasn’t a tip jar for the pianist. Probably a “no tipping allowed” policy. Wouldn’t want to present the wrong image. Never mind that half the shoppers looked like they walked in right off the beach or from their backyard. The taste treats were all we bought.

To be continued…(maybe)

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About Marcus

Who me? Introverted, neurotic, self-absorbed, increasingly cynical observer of human nature and part time social critic in hiding. Most of my life spent avoiding growing up. The naive idealistic passions of youth have evolved into the eclectic eccentricities of adulthood. Northeast Florida small-town native, related to people I can't relate to. Simultaneously my own best friend and worst enemy. Politically and spiritually unaffiliated, my personal ideologies put me all over the map or off it completely.
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2 Responses to A day in the so-called-life…

  1. mrsmartian says:

    “Really? And what type does?”, you might ask. “Oh”, I would answer, “negative”.
    Well, that made me laugh out loud! I might be stealing that one.

    • marcsuttle says:

      My first thought was something along the lines of Bobby McFerrin singing “don’t worry, be happy” as the background music as I donated my “be positive”.

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