In April 3 IssueRussell County NewsBy Wade Daffron, Columnist
I'm just in one of those moods where there's no, one, particular thing on my mind-just all kinds of stuff swirling around.
I'm still reeling from this past Sunday (hereto from now referred to as “One of the Darkest Days in the History of the United States) when the concept of “We the People” went flying out the window, and we had healthcare reform crammed down our throats (Is there coverage for that under this new plan?)
What's next? They gonna wad of up the Constitution and throw it in the trash?
It's been one of those weeks of odd occurrences, aggravating circumstances, and random thoughts.
I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM...
I've noticed that if you are eating ice cream, everyone in the immediate area also wants ice cream-especially if children are around.
The other night, after securing the bunker, I treated myself to one of those small, colored-cones, filled with two scoops of ice cream.
I was alone, it was quiet, and all was well with the world.
Upon the tip of my tongue touching the ice cream, chaos ensued.
“I WANT ICE CREAM!” five-year-old Drake screamed as he burst through the door.
His sister, Kate, three, seemed to drop from the sky, and she, too, screamed for “I TEAM!”
This was followed by a tug at my pants. It was toddler Izzy, who merely grunted and pointed at the ice cream cone.
Problem was...I was holding the last remnant of ice cream in the house.
First, I tried to explain to Kate that she didn't even like that flavor.
“Yeah I do!” she cried.
“No you don't” I said, “you won't eat it.”
“BUT I LOVE IT FOREVER!”
I tossed the cone to the hungry jackals and let them sort it out. The soggy cone was found the next morning as I sat on it while getting dressed.
I SMELL THE SMELL OF SOMETHING SMELLY
OK, here's the situation...
There's two people on a room-one of them is you.
At some point, you notice an awful odor, and you realize that, oh, how do you say it, someone has “passed gas.”
You know it wasn't you, so...
What's the proper etiquette in this situation?Do you address the person?
Do you say something like, “Pardon me, but has an act of accidental flatulence occurred on our behalf?” as your eyes tear up and you gasp for breath?
There's always the popular, “Shew, it smells like something died in here!”, but that's an indirect approach.
And what's the chances of the other person admitting it?
Will they say, “Oh yes, I have allowed noxious gas, which is presently choking the very life out of you, escape from my body.”
What if they say, “It wasn't me.”
If it's “silent,” you very well may be facing a showdown.
Stick to your guns...and hold your nose.
I have noticed that no matter what time you set your trash out-be in noon, after work, midnight, or 2 a.m., somebody comes driving down the road.
Why is that a problem?
I'll tell you why.
Because when I set the trash out, I am usually wearing one of the following ensembles; a) tank top, speedos, and mis-matched flip flops, b) wife's bathrobe with big, fuzzy, animal slippers, c) 5X "rapper" sweat pants with neon, leopard-print parka, pimp cup, and one cowboy boot, d), naked with strategically-placed beanie.
Just let me know what works best for you.
I DON'T GET IT
I was sitting in church the other day when it hit me.
Why don't people just, you know, surrender their lives to Christ?
I mean, really, I don't know of another way that “works,” or even comes close.
Oh, I have my bad days (read above), but I sure do love the Lord, and He must love me because I guess, if nothing else, He enjoys some comic relief.