The Downs

I have found something I hate worse than dragging my sleep-deprived hiney out of bed at 6AM on a Saturday to take my mother-in-law to the slots for her monthly fix. It is doing that and then getting lost in Delaware for an hour. Now that we've reached Dover Downs, I am throbbing with irritation and wishing the buffet served Bloody Marys. I curse all the degenerates who actually want to be here at 9:30 in the morning. I curse myself for not reading the directions more thoroughly before winding up in New frickin Jersey. I curse the makers of Coke Zero for making it hard to tell if I'm drinking diet or regular - oh, wait, wrong set of imprecations. In short, I stew.