A Long Damn Day

I had notice of creeping age, when Cindy and Kate wanted to leave Griffin after church and lunch and drive up to the Georgia Aquarium for the afternoon. I told them I didn't want to go, but they wouldn't think of it, so the three of us left Griffin in Cindy's car and I was so tired, but I drove up U.S. Highway 19/41 to I-75 and on into Atlanta, and I saw the late crowds walking across the street to Turner Field to see the Braves, which would have been more fun, but we were going to the Aquarium, so I continued on through the traffic, off the Piedmont Road exit, and there were obnoxious lane bumpers which I accidently ran over, making horrendous noise, as I travelled over them, but I made it to the far left lane on Piedmont and turned left over toward Centennial Olympic park and the aquarium and their parking lot, which was situated on the exact opposite side of the main entrance to the aquarium, so we walked, and I got some exercise, and banged my finger on the metal posts along the walkway, making a deliciously obnoxious noise as we walked, and then we entered the main entrance and it came time for me to pay for my ticket, the others' tickets having already been paid, which irritated me somewhat, but I paid, then we walked over to see some jacks in the tanks on the wall, and they were blissfully ignorant of the many eyes staring at them, or seemed to be, and then we walked among the fishes and the fishes and the fishes and the fishes, then we walked back through the inevitable gift shop, where commerce was practiced by Cindy, then out to the wall situated outside the exit, where we became part of a family photograph for another, unrelated family, then I left Cindy and Kate and walked back around the building, pinging on the metal posts along the selfsame walkway, then climbed four stories to the area of the car, then found the car, then moved the pylon and the sign directing parking to another area, from behind my car, which created quite a puzzle for me to determine how I would extricate the automobile from behind the pylon and sign, without removing same, which was impossible, so, as I said, I moved them enough to remove the car, at about the same time as another car tried to squeeze his car around my reversing car, which was quite stupid, since my car was about twice the size of his and could actually do more damage if we, in fact, collided, but I finally was able to pay my ten dollars, a fin, to the parking attendant and refuse a receipt and drive around the building to the other side of the building, where I could see Cindy and Kate looking for me, but they, of course, were not looking in my direction, but there was, fortunately, not any more traffic behind me, so I parked my car between two traffic markers and they saw me, finally, and walked across the street, and caught up with me and I touched the unlock button and let them in and extricated the vehicle from between the two orange and white traffic markers and headed up the road to another road to Marietta Street, then Pryor Street to Mitchell Street, then on to Memorial Drive and Six Feet Under, where I washed my hands in the men's room, adjusted my look somewhat, reentered the dining room, taking note of the autographed tour sweatshirt from the Rolling Stones, signed by Keith Richards, and sat down at table to order beer and seafood and onion rings and took my rest, finally. A long damn day.