Hello, hello, hello! I'm proud to announce that I've spent all my allotted computer time for the last several weeks just wading through the comments, suggestions and requests for my expertise! Thankfully, quite a few could be addressed simply by forwarding to the FBI. Some had to be delicately handled, so to speak, and weren't suitable for display, but here's two that are. Enjoy!
I think the 'giving season' should be all year long. Giving enriches the soul and I live for opportunities to perform random acts of kindness. Well, it can get a bit rough on the pocket book, to be sure, but Regis gave me a wonderful idea. Regis is my funny furry kitty cat. He loves to bring me sweet little dead mouses. A great many of them and always in pristine condition, but dead. One day I was feeling a bit blue because I had no money for gifts. I was looking in the freezer for my Chunky Monkey when I realized I was digging through a treasure trove of frozen mice! The freezer was full of them! I keep them there because Regis doesn't like it when I put them in the fridge.
So I wrapped each one in colorful tissue with their little tails sticking out. Cute enough for a baby shower! I filled up a satchel with frozen mice and headed out the door. Silly me, the neighbors were all at work, so I headed for the grocery store. When I got there I started handing out my little gifts to anyone I saw. Some people said no thanks without even looking at them. Several people took them and didn't even open them. A few people looked at them and behaved rather oddly. They seemed perplexed and moved down the aisle rather quickly. Finally, I met the sweetest old fellow! When I handed him his mouse he smiled and thanked me very nicely. He opened it and exclaimed with delight. Then he grasped the mouse by the tail and took a good bite. "Mmmm!" he said. "Better than pork rinds!" I was aglow with joy! We were chatting happily together when, a few aisles away, a woman screamed, and screamed again! Everyone ran to her. When I got there I could see she had stripped her mouse and thrown it on the floor! She was acting like a lunatic, (no offense) and when she saw me she went completely psychotic! She charged at me and almost pushed me into the center aisle baked goods bin! Then the store manager arrived and told me I had to leave and never come back. I was shocked! I've never been treated with such rudeness before! Fore heaven's sake! I wasn't handing out rats!
I don't know about you, but I think good manners have died in this country. I never thought I'd encounter such low class behavior in such a nice neighborhood. Maybe I'm just old fashioned, but good manners define us as civilized human beings. It's very upsetting. What do you think?
Dazed and Refused
You poor abused thing! What an awful experience! I can only imagine how sad this has made you. It certainly is true that manners have degraded terribly in this country. Why, it's even spread, like some vile disease, right into Washington DC! Frightful. Of course, that means people like you and me must try even harder to encourage appropriate behavior whenever we can. It also requires that we try to overlook some of the mistakes people make. It would be rude, for example, to demand that people open their gifts. I'm sure you understand. I do have a few other ideas. Next time you decide to go gifting, take time to prepare and make your gifts more appealing. For instance, you could toast the mice until they're crunchy, then cut off their tails, push a skewer up their rears and dip them in melted chocolate. Roll them in chopped nuts and wrap them in cellophane. You can get little cellophane bags for just this sort of thing. Watch the reaction then! Let me know how that works, but visit a different grocery store next time. You may have an innovative product in the making, you know. It could be the next flavor crave! If you get 20 or 30 more cats you could become a Captain of Industry! By the way, mice can be used in place of chicken in soups, casseroles and makes a nice change from veal in Scallopini. It's just wonderful to hear from such a kind, giving person like you. Don't let anyone stop you from being who you are; a force for good with a style all your own! Be well, dear, and say hello to Regis for me!
Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should just go find a shrink. Is this totally confidential? I have interests to protect, OK? I've been under a lot of stress lately. I'm an industry analyst for the SEC, 24 years, and last year I bought a Harley Soft Tail to give myself a little present, you know? A new hobby. Relaxing. Only, after a few months, I started having this problem. I was lonely when I wasn't with my bike. I couldn't think of much except my bike. I couldn't stand to wear anything but my leathers. All my off hours I'd wear my leathers. I'd wear them riding to work, take them off at the office and go through my day just dying to put them back on. So I started putting them on at lunch and riding around a little. That helped, but it wasn't enough. I'd take as much time off as I could manage to ride my bike around. I got suits sized so I could wear my leathers under them. Everybody thinks I've got some weird disease. I've had to back out of so many social events that my wife is talking divorce. I'm seriously freaked out and I don't know what to do. On top of everything else, I'm fighting an urge to shave my head and have it tattooed with flames reading, "Harley Forever!" It's like I'm cursed! I don't know if this will pass by itself or if I need Harley detox. Maybe you can refer me to a nice, secure rehab program. If they hear about this at work my career is over.
My goodness. Your Harley has turned you into a Biker. This has been known to happen, especially to men who live a grueling, soul sucking life such as yours. There's really only one solution and deep down you know what it is. Quit your job and give yourself over to the mystery! Don't tell me you can't! You've got your cash stashed and you CAN take to the rode! It isn't a lifestyle choice, it's a calling. Be glad! If your wife shows no enthusiasm, let her divorce you. You can pick up a chick somewhere. By all means, get as many tattoos as you like. Who should you please besides yourself? Seriously. This is a glorious affirmation! I wish I could be there to see you ride off to your destiny! I know you'll be happy soon! Drop me a note, if you can, and let me know how you are.
!!!! p.s. to Uneasy Rider!!!
I forgot to mention Sturgis! Maybe you've already heard about the annual biker festival each July in South Dakota. You wouldn't want to miss THAT! Get those tattoos right away so they'll be healed in time! I suppose it was cheeky of me to assume you have cash stashed for your escape, but isn't that natural given your line of work? Money guys like you always have money, hopefully where your wife can't find it. Back in the day, when I was a mud wrestler, I had a biker boyfriend named Scrotum. Great times! We'd go on long, aimless rides to places I never heard of and sometimes he'd even bring me home. I shouldn't have blown up his Harley. That was the end of my love affair with Scrotum. So watch out what kind of chick you pick up. Biker chicks can be a bit twitchy.
Ride and be well,