The Charlie Bravo Story

I was unfaithful

I coasted the bike into the garage, closing the overhead door by hand so the motor wouldn’t wake anybody in the house. Sitting my aching fanny on one of the lawnmower tires, I gingerly unsnapped the buckles of each of my Alpinestar boots and eased into the kitchen on sweaty sock feet; it looked like I had made it home free.

Then “CLICK”.

The harsh light of reality in the form of the kitchen lights illuminated my skulking form, and there was Charlie the Interrogator. She was leaned with her hip against the counter, arms crossed and her foot tapping, impaling me with an icy glaze fully capable of withering my mangerines and causing them to drop dead from the vine.

Actually, she was pacing the kitchen floor, but you can imagine the frosty vibe she was laying down.

“And just where have YOU been for the last eight hours?” And what’s that I smell on you?”, she sneered.

I stammered, “I swear I didn’t pet any other dogs! I didn’t even LOOK at any other dogs! There’s only you!”

“Don’t try to misdirect me, you slimy little cheater; I’m not talking about THAT smell, and you know it. Besides, we’ll get to that later when you’re trying to get to sleep. I’m talking about that smell of bug splatter and gasoline, the smell of the open road, the aroma of FREEDOM! So you left me here with mom and Oba so you could go out gallivanting around in the mountains?”

“Well, Charlie, here’s how it happened: you know I traded the Guzzi for a Honda, right? And you were OK with it?”

“Go on, keep digging your grave a little deeper…”

“Well, I meant to take the new bike out for a little spin, you know, to see how it would handle and make sure it was suitable for your Royal Hieney, er, Highness. I didn’t mean for things to go as far as they did, but one curve led to another and before I realized it, I had passed the point of no return. I didn’t plan it that way, I was just caught up in the moment! It won’t happen again! I promise!(sob)”

“Well, we’ll just see about THAT! For now, you can just contemplate the error of your actions while sleeping on the couch with Titus, Claire, Ajax and Marco”.

“Uh, Charlie, that’s just like any other night at the Casa del Whackos; how is this a punishment? Be it the kingsize bed, the couch, or the cot in the van, I only get a scant 14 inches as it is…”

“Oh, THIS isn’t punishment, this is merely a time of reflection, of purgatory, if you will. The real punishment will come later, maybe months from now when you least expect it. Meditate on THAT while serving your time on the Couch of Contemplation”. (Door slams)

Well, this sucks…

(But it was sooooo worth it)

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