Because Memory Lane is fun.
Nursemyra and her redoubtable fans have a charming tradition here. It made me root through underbed drawers for this one, which I was sure I still had; it’s a one-off custom printed by my notoriously quirky Albino Ex in commemoration of the day he wrapped his mind around the idea that I was in business for myself. “You mean, when someone’s butt hurts, they call you and say they want a butt appointment,” he said. “And no butts means — no lunch money. That takes guts.”
It takes more guts — or something — to put up with the crap I did in places where I was earning a “regular paycheck” that could be cut off at any time through one individual’s caprice, but it was nice to be appreciated, anyway.
I still see Albino Ex pretty frequently. Christmas morning, neither of us having any engagements with others till afternoon and bereft of gym facilities, we took a walk up the nearest bike trail, where – as the whitest man in the county and possibly the watershed region — he chirpily wished all passersby a Happy Kwanzaa. Cheeky bastard.