Momma MacLeod

I wore my yellow and black "loud" MacLeod kilt today.
I left the store about 8pm, tired and as it turns out, a bit cranky.
As I was crossing a street, I hear, "Hey MacLeod!"
I had a quick flash of spinning with my katana and taking his head, (they did film the TV series here), but instead just turned to look.
Some mid-forties businessman in an SUV stopped at the light was waving wildly at me, making a big scene. Greying hair, suit, probably gets his stick up when he plays recreational hockey.
"My mother was a MacLeod!" he yelled.
I shrugged. "That's not my fault."
The look on his face was priceless. A mixture of hurt and surprise. Then he smiled.
"Yeah, I blame my dad, too!"
Then he gunned it, laughing, as the light turned green.
No moral from that story.

Picture this; an old man has worked his entire life on a massive ink drawing covering an entire barn. It is the history of humanity's efforts at nobility. There are myths, religions, cautionary tales, fables, all drawn in incredible detail. It would take a week to properly enjoy a square foot of this incredible masterpiece.
The day he finishes the very last pen stroke at the last top corner of the barn, he has a heart attack, falls from the ladder, and dies.
The new owners tear down the barn for firewood.
No mural from that story.

Now you know why I'm The MacBitseach.

Popular posts from this blog

Hey! New Guy!

Blog moving day

Well, that's embarrassing!