slug  |sləg|

noun

1 a tough-skinned terrestrial mollusk that typically lacks a shell and secretes a film of mucus for protection. It can be a serious plant pest. See also sea slug.

[Order Stylommatophora, class Gastropoda.]

2 a slow, lazy person; a sluggard.

3 an amount of an alcoholic drink, typically liquor, that is gulped or poured: he took a slug of whiskey.

The title of this brief entry refers to choice 2 above, although, I suspect slugs are happy campers being who they are as choice 1. Unless, of course, they live in the vicinity of a family who has curious young minds who wonder if it’s really true that slugs dissolve when covered with salt, which is just a mean thing to do because it causes the slug to secrete itself to death in self-defense. So I’ve heard. Just saying…

The #2 choice is something I’m really getting good at. So is Diane, but I do not consider her a slug. No siree. Not me. She’s Queen of the Hop, Top of the Heap to me.

I’m the slug, and I think that’s really OK, considering my advanced age. I can still walk, but I move slow. I’m get more wrinkly all the time. And, although I do not secrete a film of mucous for protection, it drips out of my nose all the time. Regarding that, I’ve learned to love my mustache because it keeps the mucous off my lips, and the mucous in my mustache works nicely to keep my whiskers in place when I comb them. Diane is not a fan of this new attraction I have for my face. She’s always telling me, “quit petting your face!”, or “put that comb away!”, in a very stern voice. I don’t see the problem.

Perhaps some of you may see other benefits of being a slug of sorts, and would like to share them with the world. I’m always up for learning new ‘stuff’.