We had just checked in to Buccia's Vineyard B & B, Conneaut, Ohio, for a special weekend together, compliments of our daughters. As we entered, to the right was a large room where guests were wine-tasting Buccia's finest. While Karen freshened up in our room, I headed for the wine.
The conversation amongst the guests was being monopolized by a boring guy who was relating in great and lengthy detail about his Jet Ski accident and subsequent injuries. When a momentary break took place in his not-so-captivating conversation, I seized the moment by proclaiming, "I broke my collarbone once." When the laughter subsided I continued.
"I had a towel wrapped around my neck and trailing down my back, Superman style. I jumped off our front porch with my eyes closed, twirled around in mid-air, and unexpectedly hit the ground hard. Wimpering, I got up and ran into the house and laid down on my bed." Now you know, as I relate this story, I was talking about when I was a kid. Right?
Not missing a beat, Al Bucci, our genial proprietor, asked, "Was alcohol involved?"
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