Blog #289                                September 22, 2022

 

I had an appointment with Dr. Hand this week to give me a shot for trigger finger.  I had a shot two years ago, and it has worked this long, so that’s good.  But getting a painful shot is not appealing, so I found some Diazepam in my drug stash.  We all have a drug stash, don’t we?  We never throw anything away.  If the laxative worked twenty years ago, it should work now, right?  If we were prescribed 30 pain relief pills and only used 5, the other 25 will sit in the cabinet forever.  They’re expensive.  You can’t just throw them away.  It would be a shonde.  I have stool softeners from the Nixon Administration.

 

The Diazepam is an anti-anxiety pill, like Valium.  The instructions on the label read, Take one hour before you are going to behave like a whiny, little baby.  I do have a history of that.  Dr. Hand’s office is at St. Louis’ big hospital complex downtown.  Here’s how it went:

 

·        Decided not to take the pill.  What a brave little boy!

·        Drive time – 20 minutes

·        Finding a parking place in the huge garage – 20 minutes

·        Doctor visit – 10 minutes

·        Shot – 6 seconds.  It hurt, but six seconds goes by quickly.

·        Finding my car – 11 minutes.  Well, I forgot whether it was left or right.

·        Finding my way out of the garage – 35 minutes.

 

Plus, my furnace has a leak and the maintenance guy said I had to have someone wash the evaporator, replace some tubes and clean out a pipe.  Sounds exactly like what they did to my heart thirteen years ago.  Everything is about health at my age.  Last month a doctor checked me out and said I was going to live to be 120.  I’m not sure I want to live that long.  You’ll be a bunch of old people by then and I won’t know how to deal with you.  So, while you’re still young, let’s talk.

 

Hi there.  Thanks for coming back.  I hope you are feeling young and wonderful and can help me understand how my wife’s brain works.  Just the other day she called me.  “Fred and Ethel are going to a movie at 4:45.”  No, she didn’t use those names, but everything else I’m about to tell you is true.  She continued, “I really don’t care one bit about this movie, but if you want, we can go with them or just meet them for dinner.”  I asked her the name of the movie and she told me, adding, “I couldn’t care less.  I have no interest in that movie.”  I said ok, let’s just meet them for dinner.  And she said, “Or maybe I’ll just go to the movie with them and you can meet us later.”

 

Now you tell me, is this woman making any sense?  It’s like being married to Yogi Berra.  Yogi was famous for his strange sayings.  Like you can observe a lot by watching and if they don’t want to come, you can’t stop them and of course I didn’t really say everything I said.  My own little Yogi is famous for some of her sayings as well.  The grandkids call them Nonnie-isms.  One goes like this: if the Queen had balls, she would be the King.  The kids love that.

 

I was at the Zoo this week, doing my thing, answering anything Zooish.  Wait, Zooish?  Did I just create that word? 

 

They ask me for everything Zooish

Are the cockatoos greenish or bluish?

How tall’s the giraffe?

Do the hyenas laugh?

And whether the elephant’s Jewish.

 

Well, they do have big noses.  And they never forget.  Carol can remember what she wore to a dinner party eight years ago.  She just remembered the exact date of an operation my father had in 1981.  Wait, did I just compare my wife to an elephant?  Oh, my God!  No, no, that’s not what I meant.  Oy, am I in trouble!  I’m such a Dumbo!

 

Message from Shakespeare:  I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream (Henry IV, Part 1).  I’m glad Pops likes animals.  I guess that’s why he adopted me.  And by the way, I don’t have balls either, and I’m not the Queen or the King.  I’m just the Cat.  Purr.

 

The most challenging question I ever received at the Zoo was in front of the zebra exhibit.  It was from a seven-year-old girl, holding her mother’s hand and looking straight into my eyes.  “How do you tell the male zebra from the female zebra,” she asked?  I looked at the mother who gave me an amused smirk, then turned to the little girl with my answer.  The female zebras have bigger closets.

 

 

 

 

At McDonald’s today, the indoor service was closed – not enough help –so I went to the nearest other McDonald’s.  They had help.  Let me be kind.  I’m sure that the young man at the register was a wonderful human being, loved his mother, had a puppy, recycled, but he was unqualified to communicate with other Homo sapiens or make change.  I made the mistake of giving him $1.29 in exact change for my Diet Coke.  It took him fully two minutes to place each of the 12 coins on the counter individually, count them (twice), scoop them into his hand and transfer each coin from his hand into the register one at a time.  Eventually, despite his maddening insouciance, he gave me the cup.

 

Are you finished figuring out what 12 coins you need to make $1.29?  I knew you could do it.  They’re hiring at McDonald’s.

 

A recent study showed that 30% of dogs respond to their name.  A collateral study has revealed that 26% of my friends respond to their names.  Maybe I should start calling them Rover.  No, only kidding.  My friends are all wonderful human beings, loved their mothers, recycled – and pretty smart too.  Wow, I compared my wife to an elephant and said my friends couldn’t respond to their names.  I’m really batting zero this week.

 

Weekly Word:  Insouciance is a casual lack of concern, indifference.  And with that bit of information, I think we should stop.  As Yogi Berra said, it’s not over till it’s over.  But you know what?  It’s over!  See you next week.  Stay well and count your blessings.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com