Just when you think stupidity has
apexed, you find yourself mistaken.
Well, maybe not you, but certainly I find myself mistaken. Allow me to explain.
Practically a week doesn’t go by
when the morning news gleefully announces today’s special week. Yesterday, for instance, began National
Cleanse Your Skin Week, and World Breastfeeding Week. International Clown Week was the first week
in August, as was Simplify Your Life Week, and National Exercise with Your
Child Week.
No kidding.
Climaxing both the summer and the
month of August was Ride Sober or Get Pulled Over – that is two-weeks in
length. Yeah!
 |
| A fine example of the weak minded among us |
A few days ago, I was chatting
with some acquaintances about something monumental. We weren’t trying to solve colossal problems
such as correcting time lapses with the atomic clock, creating an anti-gravity
device, or try to cover up President Trump’s Russian non-collusion. Rather, we were intently discussing ways to
crisp leftover French fries in the microwave.
But contained therein was a
smidgen of conversation about our personal health, or lack thereof.
We’re all getting a bit
long-in-the-tooth, and are actually surprised none of us are sitting in an
assisted living facility watching Golden Girls re-runs. In fact, if we now drop something, we
carefully decide if we really need it and should bend over to pick it up.
Rather, we’re still out and about
doing stuff we did when we were younger, only more slowly and with more
caution. Our bones are more brittle and
our judgment has waned and our eating habits now resemble that of a farm
animal.
We have cell phones that are
pre-programmed to dial 9-1-1, in case we forget the number.
Which finally brings me to the
point of this week’s literary journey, how times change.
Sure, the title doesn’t reflect
the subject matter very well, but I thought it was clever.
In days of yore, we ate
food. Food was the stuff our mothers put
on out plates and then threatened us within an inch of our lives to eat it or
face our father’s wrath.
There was no debate involved with
this quality family time at the table – yelling, screaming, crying, pouting,
and giggling (only if your sister was the culprit.)
It was these times we were
introduced to such worldly culinary delicacies such as liver, pigs feet, tripe,
beets, and beef tongue. Yum.
Fortunately I avoided most of
these gastronomic pleasantries by getting a part-time job that required me to
work at dinner time.
And in the event next week was
named Wash Your Car Week, I wouldn’t, if just out of principle.
I dislike anyone – ANYONE –
telling me what to do, when.
If you’re that indecisive as to
wait for a certain period of the year to eat pizza or cleanse your skin, you
are too stupid to come in out of the rain.
