For the Sake of Refreshment

San Julius, Wolfie, and I were faffing about the compound yesterday. Truth be told, despite the bucolic setting of our house on Town Lake, with its gentle water-borne breezes, it gets hotter than H-E double hockey sticks. (Fun fact: the hottest days of the year are called the “Dog days of summer” because Sirius, the Dog Star, rises in the sky this time of year.)

It’s days like this that I’m glad Andrea Provolone has such a green thumb. All her efforts lead to our citrus trees that embody the word fecund.

Now, it’s no secret that I’m a lemonade aficionado. I have strong opinions on this magical elixir. Obviously, it begins and ends with a quality lemon. Here, in Central Texas, we tend to grow the Improved Meyer Lemon. It’s a good fruit. A little too sweet, for my tastes. (I’m, if nothing else, rather bitter.)

All things being equal, I’d rather us use Eureka lemons. But, alas, our climate is a smidge too warm for it.

The hens and I pick the most plump, succulent lemons we can find on Andrea’s trees and bring them, by the basket, into the compound’s kitchen. This is where H.E. Pennypacker performs his magic. Seriously, he may be prone to the occasional panicky moment, but he is a whiz with a Ninja.

Disaster! The Ninja’s motor broke. Too many mixed drinks made. Personally, I blame Turd Verdeson’s inexplicable attraction to rum drinks that come served in pineapples with paper umbrellas.

But, as Winston Churchill would say, this is the type of disaster up with which we shall not put. So, we put on our big boy pants and ventured out in search of a refreshing beverage. Wolfie asked (in her own way) for a frozen smoothie. San Julius and I nodded in approbation. We set off in my beautiful whip, a 1986 Aries K car powder blue, 2-door coupe. Yes, you are rightfully jealous of me. Not everyone can have access to such wheels.

We find a local joint over on Burleson Road and pull in. We all place our orders. Eager in anticipation, our stomachs growl, our mouths salivate, our pupils dilate. But, when they are served, our souls plummet. These aren’t what we ordered. We wanted a Big Smooth. What we were served was nothing but a Lil’ Smoothie. It was weak, jejune, and lacking any strength or merit. Such a disappointment.

Despondent. Dejected. Deflated. We threw our Lil’ Smoothies right into the trash where they belonged and shouted, “Sod off!” Our minds suffused with negativity. This, naturally, reminded me of FC Dallas. I informed my lovely hens that our cherished El FC play them this weekend. Wolfie hopped twice to the right. Upon her landing, San Julius turned to lock eyes with me and pinched out a large dollop of scat.

Yes, my dears. I understand.

El FC 2-1 FC Strip Malls