So I'm at a restaurant tonight, minding my own business, eating my own food (and whatever remnants on nearby tables I can get to before the busboys, of course) when all of a sudden I see someone come in I really don't want to have to talk to.
     Some guy.
     You know, one of those guys.  
     The kind you never really want to talk to, but especially not when you'd have to stop pouring salt on your hand and licking it off to do so.
     I almost panicked and made a fool of myself by running out the door.
     Then I remembered the first spittlebug of the season that I saw in my garden just two days ago.
     You know the spittlebug, don't you?  My nature book says they're now living in every part of the U.S., thanks to the completion of the Interstate Highway System.
     Anyway, they're bugs that coat themselves in a froth of their own spittle in order to evade their enemies.
     Well, smart boy that I am, I figured anything good enough to work on hungry predators is probably good enough to work on deadly dull conversationalists.
     And so, instead of running out the door like a fool,  I quickly got to work losing myself in the froth of my own spittle.

 

 Sort  of what I looked like 
(only the green part was white and the white part was green
because I had a piece of lettuce stuck between my teeth)

     
     As luck would have it, it DID work!
     Or it would have had the guy been who I thought he was.  Turned out to be someone else.  A total stranger.  
     Someone who didn't recognize me even after I went up, introduced myself, and showed him some I.D.
     No matter.  I managed to evade the waiter and his check while slipping out undetected through the kitchen (where it turns out spittlebugs are quite common).
     Of course then I kept right on slipping because of the froth and hurt my knee, back, and head, but hey - everything has a down side.
     You should be used to that by now.
     After all, this is real life we're talking about, kiddos - NOT some childish fantasy world!
     
 

     So tonight we're watching TV with the sound off (just because it's SO much more fun when you have to guess what everyone's saying) when a commercial comes on for some new perfume called Contradiction.
     And so I start thinking I know exactly what the voice-over must be:
     "Ahhh, yes... Contradiction perfume!  The fragrance that says 'Come take me NOW!' from across the room, then screams 'RAPE! RAPE!!!!!' the moment you place your nose on her neck."
     Halfway through my little narration, however, my wife flips stations.
     To a Taco Bell commercial.
     "Yo quiero kinky sex!" the little dog was saying to a puzzled drive-thru employee.
     If this makes you wonder what our ancestors did to amuse themselves before TV came along, I'll be sleeping well tonight!
 

     He's at my wife's computer, chatting.
     No, wait - that's my WIFE!
     Dang.
     I wonder if this means I shouldn't have put the Pepsi in Jester's water bowl this afternoon and the hairball treatment drops in the iced tea....  
 

     I got a letter in the mail today.
     A mysterious letter.
     A letter addressed to a man who no longer lives here.
     A letter postmarked June 1, 1944.
     "Dear John," it began quite stupidly since the envelope was clearly addressed to a man named Johnny.  "I know you face your day of destiny soon.  I know this may be the last letter you ever get from me.  And I know the military censors may not allow you to get it at all.  But please - if you get this in time - if it's not already too late - I beg you!  DON'T invade Normandy with a sucker in your mouth!  DON'T go trying to hit any beaches unless they hit you first!  DON'T try to surrender to the Germans with food in your mouth!  And DON'T run into any ambushes while carrying scissors in your hand!
     "Your Kindergarten Teacher, Miss Rawlings.
     P.S. - Be sure to wash your hands IMMEDIATELY after the war.  I can't BEGIN to tell you all the places it's been!"
     Being the good person that I am, I marked "Return To Sender" across the front and put it back in my box, unopened.
 

     Accidental Lipicide:  Archaic coroner's term for kissing your ass goodbye prematurely, then killing yourself to escape the shame of your mistake.