Getting the moon shot

“Where are you going now? It’s 2 a.m.,” sleepily muttered the “Pearl of the Orient,” my wife, after I stubbed my toe on the corner of the dresser and cursed quietly as I put on my robe and slippers.
I still wasn’t seasonally acclimatized to the condo at our winter residence.
“I’m just heading out to get a shot of the lunar eclipse. It hasn’t happened on the winter solstice for about 400 years,” I replied, still fascinated by the historical significance of the occasion.
“You gonna come with me?” I asked.
“You gotta be kidding! You’re nuts!” retorted the Pearl as she snuggled down deeper under the comforter.
Enthused with my toes still throbbing, I shuffled out picking up my camera with the newly-acquired telephoto lens extender installed.
“This should be quite a shot,” I thought. “Maybe win an award at the Emu Fall Fair.”
I shunned shoes and jacket by the door, reasoning, “This is Florida. It won’t be too cold and I’ll only be a minute.”
Leaning over the balcony, I looked up. Way up. Nothing.
I leaned a little further and just about toppled over the railing. Fortunately, my robe snagged on that rusty nail, as well as my left bicep, halting my forward progress.
I regained my footing and unhooked myself. Another small injury worth the price of witnessing this historical eclipse.
Besides my tetanus shot was up to date.
I headed down the stairs for the parking lot, where I would have an unobstructed view of the sky. My left slipper came off and flopped through the second last step.
My leg followed in short order, skinning my shin from ankle to knee. I pitched forward, managing to save my camera but bruising both my elbows.
The yowl emitted by the startled tomcat hiding under the stairs was nothing compared to my own protestations at this last assault on my sleek physique.
I extricated by leg and stumbled out onto the asphalt. I was unaware the commotion had awakened two of my neighbours and both had phoned 9-1-1 reporting a prowler.
I looked up. There it was—a barely visible, sort of orange moon. I peered through the lens, zoomed, and focused. Click! Nothing on the screen.
I would need a time exposure. But no tripod. What to do?
I staggered over to my neighbour’s new van and, steadying my now blood-spattered arm on its gleaming finish, I used all my powers of concentration to run off a series of shots I was praying would be steady enough.
It was quite an effort as my ratty old underwear—the pair with the “comfortable” waist band—kept slipping towards my knees. My focus was total.
I didn’t notice the cop car until its lights pinned me to the side of the van.
“Freeze! Hands on your head! Now!” ordered two cops looking at me down the barrel of their Glocks.
I obeyed. My underwear slithered down my legs and a gust of frigid wind whipped open my robe. The cops and the neighbour laughed.
The initial charges were trespass, vandalism (the blood on the van), and indecent exposure. They dropped the charges and let me go after the Pearl refused to post bail.
The pictures should be prize winners—the candid moon shot the neighbour got, that is!

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