Waiting for the Third Strike

The count is 0 and 2.

I was informed about the first strike a couple of days ago, when I informed Mr. S. Moosebutt that money had flowed from my daughter, through my bank account, and into the coffers of an organization selling Yankees memorabilia (specifically, a brick from the now no-longer-among-us Yankee Stadium, or whatever they call it back there). This tangential and probably fairly hygienic association with the Yankees was enough to cast a cloud of doubt over my general character. Thank heavens I didn't tell him the offending brick actually passed through my mailbox, and probably even spent some time on my kitchen table (I pretty much let my wife handle that part of the transaction). Honest, I cleaned the table off with bleach. What more does he expect from me?

The second strike will probably come later today, when I will likely be accused of "having lunch" with a certain Senior Senator from Utah, whose name I will not mention except to say that it rhymes with "foreign match." In reality, he was in the same big room with me, but at a different table. And we did eat the same roast beef and potatoes. I'm not sure if he had the kiwi dessert or the chocolate (mine was chocolate). But that's all. The trouble is that this nameless senior senator is not on Mr. Moosebutt's "A" list. He's more like on the "S" list, if you take my meaning. Thus anything that involves breathing the same air as this senior senator will once again be viewed as reason to question my character.

I'm assuming I get three strikes. I'm waiting to see what the third one might be. It will probably involve the Republican Party in some way. Or noodles. Moosebutt really likes noodles. But I'm scared that I might get left out of the malt-ball runs if I cross the line again. I guess I'll lay low for a while, until the Yankee Brick scandal blows over.

P.S. I got no problem with noodles. Noodles are great. Really.