The moon was not in the Seventh House, nor was Jupiter in line with Mars last Sat.  There was no peace on my little corner of the planet at any rate. 

The day started out well enough.  My brother and sister-in-law and I finally exchanged Christmas presents.  (Yeah?  Sez you.  I got presents Saturday and you didn't, nyah-nyah.)  Then it was off to a UT basketball game where UT beat Tech quite easily.  The day was pleasant, the company was pleasant, hell, even the Griper didn't Gripe once.

If I were a smart cookie, I'd've bopped off to the hacienda after that, but the lure of that Showdown fifty dollar kept me hanging on.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Somewhere along the perpetual motion pendulum that is the walk between the Showdown and the Hole, something changed and went horribly wrong.

Normally, when the average human being is drinking a beer and sees my pan through the bottom of the glass or stein, they think nothing of it.  Face it, most of the time when you see me through the bottom of your glass, you're thinking "why there's Gayle".  Nothing much more than that, right?  Unless, I'm going through your wallet or tossing your smokes over the fence.  Right?  Well, somehow the light got bent and refracted sideways  Saturday.  My visage was horribly refracted so that apparently instead of seeing ol' Gayle, a couple of men saw their ex-wives. 

Now, I'm an ex-wife myself, and have nothing against them as a whole.  Not so for our players this evening.  No, I was on the receiving end of not one, but two separate yet equally frightening and incoherent muttering and eye rolling diatribes on "them bitches".  And did you know that the correct answer to "You know what I mean?" is NOT "No.  I have no clue what you're babbling about."  Live and learn.

It got to the point that I swear I could hear Bonnie Tyler talking about how forever's gonna start tonight. (If you haven't sat down and actually read the lyrics to "Total Eclipse of the Heart", you need to turn around, Bright Eyes, cause that is told from the point of view of one seriously disturbed chick.)  It was like the old vaudeville joke: "You remind me of my mother.  AND I HATE MY MOTHER."

So pardon me if I'm a little jumpy the next time you see me.  Yeah, I'm probably noting the exits and planning my escape route.  I'll calm down eventually.  Til then, don't stand your ass between me and the door.