I slept late this morning and rolled out of bed at the crack of 7:16. Today, my work includes the contemplation of furnishings for live dolphins, gathering correspondence for a potential lawsuit, and . . . um, I forget. Luckily, I have my trusty to-do list, which follows me hither and yon. I think I will take tomorrow off because I worked all weekend. The to-do list and I are thinking about getting mannies and peddies. Just kidding. The to-do list says I may have thirty-seven point five five two seconds to relax six weeks from Blorpday. I am so fortunate to have someone looking out for my best interests.

I don’t know why, but I was just thinking about the time that I was driving to Amy’s house in my Halloween costume when my car got a flat tire on a dark and spooky section of road. OK, it was not that spooky, it was suburbia, but it was dark. And suddenly this guy showed up and without asking any questions helped a white-faced, black-cloaked ghoul put on the spare. And I was all, like, wow, I don’t know how to thank you! And he was all, like, just pay it forward, man, just pay it forward. This was June 1991, and I was nine years old.

OK, see what I did there? I wrote about two completely different things without a transition between them. That is known as “juxtaposition” and also “bad writing.” Just one of those extra little treats you can expect from the Hippo. Just paying it forward.