So, the wife and crumb-snatchers are out for the evening, and being that I'm on call I couldn't be that far away from a computer, I got to skip out on the event.
Instead of having free time, I sprayed the house for bugs, mowed the front yard (what's left of it... dammit), moved all the furniture, and cleaned some firearms. Usually, I have a bad habit of breaking down the firearm between shots and cleaning them, but oddly I hadn't cleaned the Glock in quite some time. So now, you could perform open heart surgery on the damned thing.
There was nothing to eat here, so I went to Zaxby's and had myself a Buffalo Blue salad.
While I was waiting in line, all I could smell was Hoppe's #9. If anyone who had ever used the stuff had been standing near me, it would have been a dead giveaway. Which I found kind of funny.
"Hello? 911? Yes, I think I smell a man with a gun. Yes... I said 'smell'. I can smell the... hello?? hello???"