The Worst Day Ever

People are always talking about my robust health. And you know what? I don't tell them otherwise, because I am very healthy. Healthy as a horse in fact, and horses are notoriously hard to damage, through sickness or whatever. I should know -- the unfortunate duty of humanely euthenizing a neighbor's elderly horse fell on me a while back. I'll be damned if I didn't spend a whole week poisoning that horse before it finally croaked -- and I think that was only because I hadn't been feeding it. People talk about the effectiveness of my home-made poisons just as much as they do about my health, so that wasn't the problem -- horses are just tough.

Anyhow, horse-healthy as I am, yesterday I once again came down with some kind of illness. I don't want to get into the details of it, but my carpet will never be the same again. I've been recuperating today; I'm eating lots of soup and eggs, and I got an extension cord for my heated blanket, so I can wear it around the house.
Even though the gods have treated me so poorly today, however, I refused to lose my courtesy. So, when the mailman arrived this afternoon, I was there on the porch, ready to meet him. He gave me my mail (I'm looking into a correspondence course on private detection) and sympathized with my illness. Or so it seemed. As he was about to leave, he said this: "I wouldn't worry about it -- I bet it's just the bug that's been going around."
The nerve! To imply that I, Dandy Chesterton, pillar of the community, maker of fine poisons, horse whisperer, have been, "going around" and picking up "bugs." It was absolutely intolerable, so I punched him right in the mouth.
You'd think, after throwing words like that around, a mailman would be ready for a swing, but I seemed to catch him by surprise, to get the snake by the tail, if you will. So I attempted to take advantage of this upper hand of mine, and I threw my heat blanket over him. He tried to run away (the coward!) but I had netted him effectively, and I had a good grip on the extension cord. Just as I was about to pull him in, though, the plug gave out, and he escaped back to his truck, heated blanket and all.
I would have chased him down, but I'm sick.

So now I'm still ill, I've lost my heated blanket, and the mail-snake will no doubt be pressing groundless charges.
I truly am Fortune's plaything.

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