Blog #339                      September 7, 2023

 

I went to see Dr. Skin for my semi-annual or biannual or twice a year checkup.  Although the internet says all of those phrases can be used interchangeably, I like “semi-annual”.  I brought a map.  I always print out a crime-scene outline of my young and glorious body marked with the locations of all the scabs, sores, scales, scars, flaws, mange and encrustations that make it look old and poorly used.  That way I make sure she checks everything out.  The first person to enter the exam room was a young lady doctor.  “You can call me Neena,” she said, “because no-one can pronounce my last name.”  I put on my glasses and asked her to come closer so I could see her nametag.  I won’t share her last name, but I proceeded to pronounce it perfectly, which shocked her.  “No-one in the U.S. has ever pronounced it right before,” she said.  Then I asked, “Do you want me to tell you where you’re from?”  She looked skeptical, but said sure.  Well, I said, your accent tells me West Africa and your name sounds Nigerian.  She was astonished.  She looked at me like I was Nelson Mandela, Albert Schweitzer and Elvis Presley all rolled into one. It wasn’t a trick, just a combination of having a good ear, a better than average knowledge of geography and enough reading of adventure books to recognize a Nigerian name.  She was impressed by my perspicacity.

 

Let’s make perspicacity our Weekly Word.  It means acuteness of perception or understanding.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well.  Here’s some advice.  If you want to be encouraged by humanity, go to the Zoo, any zoo.  People are smiling, holding their children’s hands, marveling at the huge tortoises groaning and grunting loudly, and looking for nothing more than a happy, fun day. I never volunteer the information that the male tortoises grunt only when they are mounted upon the females and doing their best to make little tortoises.  One time, a little girl asked me what the noises were. I told her that the Mommy and Daddy were just having an argument.  The kid looked at me, looked at her parents, then she looked at me again and gave me an understanding nod.  Tortoises are reptiles, of course, and I have never seen a male tortoise having any problems impregnating the females.  I guess they don’t suffer from Reptile Dysfunction.  Ok, I’ll pause while you groan.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  That’s a fair thought, to lie between maids’ legs (Hamlet). I wouldn’t know anything about all that sex stuff.  When they cut off my broken leg, they took away some other parts as well.  But, believe me, whatever I have left is glorious.  Purr.

 

On the other hand, if you want to see all the worst that humanity has to offer, just get in your car and drive somewhere.  Drivers are selfish, reckless, mean, insulting, stupid and aggressive bullies.  Yes, you know who you are.  No, I’m sure none of you is a bad driver, but you all know I’m right.  Or, if you’re looking for the underbelly of society, just order something from Amazon and have it stolen.  I ordered a pair of sandals.  It was delivered; they even sent me a picture showing the package in the mail area.  I went to get it.  No package.  I contacted Amazon, and, after waiting 48 hours, they replaced the sandals.  It’s not really an interesting story, but you’ll like the limerick.

 

In one of life’s commonest scandals

My package was stolen by vandals

So I got back on line

And it all turned out fine

When Amazon sent me new sandals.

 

Carol and I had a quiet Labor Day with some friends.  I like quiet.  I remember a Labor Day a few years ago when we went to a big party.  Forty people, my age, big room, buffet.  I looked around and noticed that all the men – bald or grey, sitting down – were talking about sports, the stock market and cars.  I hate talking about cars.  My car is thirteen years old.  It runs great and never gives me problems.  I’m comfortable in it and know how to work most of it.  But many of my friends must not like their cars.  They get a new one every time Trump gets indicted.  Each year or two they show up in a shiny new number that has dozens of new features that they will never learn how to work before they trade it in for a new one.  I was in one the other day with my friend, and he didn’t know how to shift from Drive to Reverse, couldn’t get the Blue Tooth to work and could not manage to get the temperature of the right side of the car within 30 degrees of the left side of the car.  Plus, the only thing he could get on the radio was Rosemary Clooney singing C’mon A My House.  I hope my car and I last forever, but if it goes before me, I’m getting another thirteen-year-old model.

 

Back to the party.  All the girls were on their own side of the room, huddled together talking about whatever girls talk about.  It reminded me of a junior-high-school dance.

 

At every party there are two kinds of people – those who want to go home and those who don’t.  The trouble is, they are usually married to each other.  Ann Landers

 

And what do all these girls talk about when they gather in their noisy little flock?   Michelangelo?  No, they Gossip!  I recently read a scientific article that claims gossiping is an essential element of our social fabric.  Chimpanzees gossip, the article claims, in order to learn which members of the troop are trustworthy, friendly or social-climbing.  Isn’t that what you women are doing?  So keep it up, all you little monkeys, and try not to leave banana skins on the floor.  Yes, I know chimpanzees are not monkeys, but if I called my wife an ape. I’d need my other hip replaced.  And my tongue.

 

Well, time to say adios.  Stay well, count your blessings and don’t call your Honey an ape.  That way, you’ll be able to come back next week.  I might have something funny to say.

 

J. Fred Muggs                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com