|Doh!day, Jesterary 27, 2000
can bury his mistakes,
- Frank Lloyd Wright
And what can a mere liver of life do, Mr. Wright, particularly when it's
-9 Fahrenheit outside and the ground is frozen solid?
Today's errors in judgment began when I woke up cold cold COLD, got up
to get me a big mug of hot chocolate, and then returned to bed. I
thought that would be quicker and easier than hunting around for another
blanket, and it was - but it also proved to be a short-lived solution that
soon left me cold again, and the sheets wet and stained to boot.
Could I really have used a hot water bottle instead of a mug as my wife
later suggested I should have? Wouldn't putting hot chocolate in
a hot water bottle void the warranty?
My second error in judgment of the day (quite apart from getting out of bed, soggy though it may have been) came when I attempted to dispose of the poinsettia that has been hogging our living room and blocking our view of the pretty white ceiling for the last 6 weeks. Today is trash day here, and it seemed the thing to do so as to spare it the horrors of up to six days in an airtight can, but my wife had told me to try to save the basket the thing had come in. I attempted to do so in the laundry room. I attempted to pull the plant out of the basket exactly as my wife instructed me to do last night. Unfortunately, I first set the thing atop the washer to work on it, and the washer lid just happened to be up. I tried to get all the broken stems and leaves out, but the still-fresh memory of last year's identical disaster made me realize what a hopeless task that is. I can only hope that my wife once again buys the argument that red-stained bras are a small price to pay for having this plant's well-known poisonous properties sterilize our unmentionables.
My third error of the day was thinking I could actually eat a banana with
my cereal despite the fact that we're out of condoms. The simple
fact is I haven't been able to eat either a banana or a cucumber since
sex ed class my freshman year of high school without first seeing them
reassuringly sheathed in a prophylactic, so deeply did our teacher impress
upon us the need to put safety first. I don't know why I even try
to eat bananas and cucumbers on condomless days anymore, but I did, and
with no more success than the last time we had breakfast out and our waitress
had accidentally taken my foil wrapper away before I'd had a chance to
open it. I really, really was in the mood for a banana, too,
but no - lack of foresight forced me to settle for a shriveled up strawberry
served on a woefully too large diaphragm.
My fourth error: Putting on my boots to go get the newspaper without
looking in them first. I keep them on the basement landing in the
winter and apparently, sometime during the night, a big, black, hairy deer
had decided my left boot was a good place to seek shelter from the cold.
So there I was, already grumpy from a wet bed and not getting my 'nana,
sticking my foot into my boot only to feel waves of nausea crash over me
as I heard the sounds of a deer crunching beneath my toes. Even worse,
it turned out to have been a male, so I had to spend the next hour with
the tweezers trying to pull all of the antlers out of my heel, arch,
and fur lining.
My fifth error in judgment came after I returned from getting the paper.
My glasses fogged up, so I took them off and put them on the laundry room
counter. When I went to retrieve them, Jester was sniffing at the
frames as if they might be some new-fangled cat treat worthy of a new millennium.
I don't know why, but I suddenly wondered, "What would Jess look like with
my glasses on?" Like I fool, I tried to find out. I picked
up my glasses, I ordered my hands to hook them over my pet's ears and balance
them on his nose - and instantly nearly lost a thumb and two fingers for
My sixth error in judgment really was my own fault.
My seventh and last error of judgment before just sitting down in a closet
corner and holding a pillow over my face turns out to have also been my
own fault, though there's no way I could have predicted it.
That's it. I thought maybe I'd feel better if I took the pillow away
from my face and wrote up my troubles here, but it just isn't working.
For one thing, I keep seeing "Kristen's left the room" every time I glance
up at my screen since my screen saver seems not to have kicked in soon
enough to prevent those words from being burned into my monitor.
For another, the process of writing up my troubles seems to have done more
to make me remember them than forget them - the exact opposite of
what I'd hoped would happen when I sat down here to dredge them up.
For a third, I think holding the pillow to my face may have deprived my
brain of oxygen long enough to do a bit of permanent damage in the old
"happiness center" - or maybe it was the lingering poinsettia poison in
the pillow cover that I carefully chose to wash before bringing in contact
with my freshly cat-clawed skin.
Back To A Doctor-Prescribed Dose Of Good Old Days
(©Now by the court-appointed guardian of the probably autistic Dan Birtcher)
|Not that it matters, but ptosis is properly defined as "Abnormal lowering or drooping of an organ or a part, as of the the upper eyelid." I accidentally wrote quokka when I meant to write "upper eyelid" yesterday - sorry. A quokka is actually a small, short-tailed wallaby which I often mistake for an eyelid. I trust you'll remember this and duck if I ever try to wink at you.|