Blog #75
We spent the last week on the beach in North
Carolina. Everything was wonderful –
except the bugs.
The
insects have all come to greet us
They
seem to be happy to meet us
Mosquitos
and gnats
They’re
smiling, and that’s
Because
they’re preparing to eat us.
Do you remember the movie called THEM ? That was the one about the giant ants starring
James Arness, James Whitmore and Santa Clause.
Well, North Carolina has mosquitos that size. I saw a few of them carrying luggage. And the luggage had stickers on them, not for
the places they’d visited, but for the names of the people they’d eaten – Marge, Fred, limping old man with the
pacemaker. How come my nurses can
never find a vein when they’re drawing my blood, but these mosquitos zero in on
the first try? I think the next time I
get a blood test, I’m going to bring a bottle of mosquitos to show the nurse
where my blood is. It’ll save time.
And speaking of dangerous
flying things, there’s a warning sign near the airport that says Low Flying
Aircraft. Just how exactly do
they want you to react to this information?
Are you supposed to duck? They
might as well put up a sign that says Watch Out For Falling Space Debris. I mean if a door from the Space Station
happens to fall on you accelerating 32 feet per second per second, well, it’s
going to be a bad day. There’s not much
to be done about it. And if an American
Airlines 727 clips your Lexus with its landing gear, well, you’ll be shuffling
off this mortal coil. A little
Shakespeare there. We should never let a
day go by without a little Shakespeare.
Hi there, and welcome
back. I hope you are feeling well and
watching out for mosquitos and other low-flying stuff. How about a story? You have nothing else to
do. Your bridge game doesn’t start for
an hour, so here we go -- as Shakespeare would say, a
tale told by an idiot. We went
to a movie, you-know-who and I. I didn’t
know which movie we were going to see, but it didn’t much matter. I dropped her at the entrance. Every morning she crawls, climbs and stomps
around the house doing yoga-esque contortions and smiling like Richard Simmons
on speed. Then she hops on the treadmill for multiple
miles. But it is apparently too much of
an effort for her to walk from the parking lot to the entrance. So I dropped her. Prince Charming!
She bought two tickets, and when I entered, she handed
me one and went to the ladies’ room. I
got a glass of water, showed the attendant the ticket that said Film A, and was
directed to Theater 4. I went in. No Carol.
I picked a seat and waited. No
Carol. I watched the coming trailers –
all 827 of them. At which point Carol
entered and, in a voice loud enough to be heard in Istanbul, said, “You’re in
the wrong theater!” The patrons began to
chuckle mercilessly as I slinked sheepishly out to follow my wife to a
different theater. And how, I hear you
snicker, had I wound up in the wrong theater when my ticket clearly said the
movie that was playing there? Well, they
printed Film A when she bought the tickets even though she wanted to see Film
B. No big deal; she just went to the
theater showing Film B. EXCEPT SHE FAILED TO TELL HER POOR DUMB
HUSBAND. And now everyone in the
County is talking about the ignorant bozo who couldn’t find the right theater
and his skinny wife who had to come rescue him.
I think tonight I’ll just wear a sign that says USELESS SLOB. Best to warn everybody up front. See, a tale told by an idiot. That Shakespeare was pretty smart.
I don’t really understand why she didn’t tell me where
to go. She does it all the time. In fact, she and all her buttinsky ancestors
have been telling men where to go, what to say and how to live their lives all
throughout history. For instance,
“No, Chris, don’t pick the first New
World you see. Let’s keep looking. Maybe we’ll find one on sale.”
“No, Abe, you don’t need to waste
time shopping now. Let’s go see a play. And wear that tall hat”
“Forget it, Arthur, see if they have
a round table.”
“Adam, put down that candy bar – too
much fat. Have an apple instead.”
“Sorry, Attila, I need more
room. You’ll have to move your clothes
to Europe. Thanks, Hun.”
“What did God offer you, Moses, eight
commandments? Go back up there. See if you can get ten.”
The North Carolina trip
included our whole family – sixteen of us.
Somehow, one morning, after all eight grandchildren had eaten breakfast,
Carol and I were alone in the kitchen. I
asked her to make me pancakes. She makes
great pancakes. A quiet breakfast of
delicious pancakes all by myself! I was
ecstatic with anticipation. But no
sooner did those hot steamy flapjacks flap onto my plate than the room began to
shake, and a stampede of little urchins invaded the kitchen screaming for
pancakes. “I want the biggest!” “I want the one on the bottom!” “Where’s the syrup?” “Get that old man out of the way.” I got none of the first stack. I guess they all figured if they had my genes,
they could have my breakfast. They
inhaled the second stack, annihilated the third stack, devoured the fourth
stack. Carol was moving faster than the third
zebra trying to reach Noah’s Ark. Then,
abruptly, the vultures, sated and happy, left me like a used and discarded call
girl. They didn’t even leave any money
on the kitchen counter. All they left
was one, lonely, cold, torn pancake. And
the syrup bottle was gone. I think they
ate it. I love being a Grandfather!
And I love writing to you each week. But for now, this poor player has strutted and
fretted his hour upon the stage and is ready to wind it up. That was more BS (Bill Shakespeare).
Go on, read Hamlet or Macbeth between now and next week. You’ll like it. And there’s going to be a pop quiz. Don’t forget to count your blessings and try
to stay well.
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