The Last Laugh (A post from the past)

My wife has returned to school in order to get the nursing degree that she has long wanted. She is a truly super woman. However, her superness is not the subject of my writing today. In the process of becoming a nurse, she is attending many different classes, one of which requires her to possess what I call, "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases".

One night, being the intellectual sort, I began looking through "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases", and became alarmed by all the pictures of the different diseases. There were no less than four hundred and seventy two pages of awaiting death. I decided right then and there that I was going to begin a pro-active approach to my health. . . a disease watch.

I made a nightly routine of taking "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases", and comparing each and every picture of diseased body parts to my own body parts. I then go through my entire list of all nine hundred forty five "Horrifying Disease" symptoms that are mentioned within the book. This routine has made me the victim of my wives ridicule and has even left me branded with the title of hypochondriac. But I shall not relent my vigil. Admittedly, it takes a bit of time, but in the short while I've been doing it, I have already had a few close calls.

The first incident occurred on my way home from work. As I was driving along, I realized that I had lost nearly all the hearing in my right ear. Upon arriving at home, I flew into the house to check my list of symptoms, and sure enough, there it was on the symptom list; hearing loss.

My heart pounding, and sweating profusely, I rushed myself to the nearby clinic to find out what horrible fate that my hearing loss was a symptom of. As it turns out, I was suffering from a simple case of what the doctor called Idiocy. This is the condition that is the direct result of someone forgetting to pull out one of their ear plugs after work. I was quite surprised that they had actually come up with a name for such a thing, but there you have it, I had a case of Idiocy.

I also learned from "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases" that many diseases are a result of our genetics. I immediately contacted my mother and found out that there had been a few cases of Cervical Cancer in our ancestry. Upon further investigating in "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases", I found out that Cervical Cancer could be detected by something called a Pap Test.

Leaving nothing to chance, I made an appointment, and went to see my doctor the very next day. I told him of my family history and requested a Pap Test as soon as possible. He apparently thought I was over-reacting because he began laughing so hard that I could not understand what he was saying. A little annoyed at his mockery, I waited for him to calm down enough that he could communicate a little more clearly. I was then relieved to find out that I had no Cervix. So relieved, in fact, that I forgot to ask him how he knew that I didn't have one. I assume that it must have been removed when I was quite young, and he had read it in my chart, or something. At least now I could fill out medical history questionnaires more accurately now, by knowing that my Cervix had been removed.

My nightly routine has also attracted the attention and curiosity of my daughters as well (that is, the parts of my picture and symptom comparing that does not require privacy and a mirror), and has resulted in them becoming more aware of their own health. Last night, Natalie came down and fearfully showed me that one of her thumbs was larger than the other. Quite concerned, I consulted the list of symptoms, but could not find "enlarged thumb" on it anywhere. My wife, Miss Future Nurse Know-It-All, said that both I and Natalie were probably suffering from Idiocy, but a quick check for ear plugs quickly led me to conclude that she was once again wrong. Neither Natalie or myself had any signs of Idiocy.

I am taking no chances. I've made Natalie an appointment tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe I have discovered a new symptom; enlarged thumb, and it will be given a name in my honor, something like "Jonification".

So let the foolish laugh and call names. I know that my routine is not a waste of time, and that I'm not being a hypochondriac. If my wife suddenly comes down with a bad case of Leprosy, I hope she doesn't think that I'm going to help clean up any of her body parts that fall off! I'm not going to lift a finger! (a little medical humor. . . lift a finger. . get it?). It won't be so funny then, I bet. We'll just see who has the last laugh!

Showering can cause weight gain.

My wife has turned our bathroom into a buffet of flavors and odors. In our shower, we have coconut shampoo, papaya shampoo, mint conditioner and even grape. . . yes, grape body wash. Our toothpaste is bubblegum flavored, and our hand soap is vanilla smelling.

Taking a shower and brushing my teeth now causes me to crave food, and is usually followed by a trip to the refrigerator. I even have to fight the urge to start munching on my own arm and hair, due to them smelling like some sort of food.

I don't know why personal hygiene products need to smell like food, and I am even more puzzled at why my wife buys them. I'm thinking of starting my own line of shampoos, conditioners and toothpastes that are scented more for us manly men. I would have scents like, lumber or grass clippings, maybe even something that smelled like a freshly caught bass.

WHO'S TRAINING WHO?

When you have children, one of two things is always happening. Either you are training them on how to act like mature, responsible adults, or they are training you to act more and more like a child.

This revelation came to me just the other day when my two daughters and I had just finished watching "Sunny With A Chance", the show that my youngest, Natalie, had chosen. Before that, we had watched "Hannah Montana", the show that my other daughter, Hannah, had picked.

I now figured that it was my turn to pick the show. But this was apparently not agreeable to my darling children. An arguement quickly broke out and soon escalated into violence and chaos. Fists were flying, teeth were gnashing and hair was being ripped from the roots.

Finally, I'd had it, so I pronounced in a loud authoritave voice, "I've had it!" and with that, I left to go tell mom, I mean my wife, that they wouldn't let me watch my show, and that Hannah had kicked me, and that if Natalie came and told that I pulled her hair, that she had hit me first....that's when I realized," Hey! I'm the adult here!". So back to the living room I marched and said, "I am your father and you have to do what I say and I don't need to go tell Mom, I mean my wife, I mean your mother!" and with that being said, I pulled Natalies hair, bit Hannah on the arm and sent them both to their rooms to think about resolving conflict in a responsible manner. I was then able to sit down and watch "Sponge-Bob" in peace like a mature adult.

That makes me ANGRY.

I have once again decided that it is time to quit smoking. And for some reason, the subject of quitting smoking seems to go hand in hand with the subject of things that make me mad. I haven't quite figured out why this is, but here I am, quitting smoking and writing about things that make me mad.

Some things just really make me mad. Like when you go into the bathroom and bend over to turn on the tub faucet, and someone has left the middle knob with the arrow on it pointing up, which means that the freezing cold water is going to come blasting out of the shower and hit me square on the top of my head.

This makes me mad.

It makes me want to rip off the stupid middle knob with the arrow on it and flush it down the toilet. I instead calm myself with a puff of the nicotine inhaler that my doctor had given me, and go about my business.

But it doesn't take very long before they (the others who live here) find another way to make me angry. As I walk into the kitchen, I see sitting on the counter, a huge, monstrosity of a glass of milk that someone has poured themselves, and then left on the counter to rot after taking only two sips.

This makes me very mad.

I take the luke-warm glass of milk straight into the living room where THEY are watching some tv show that would just make me mad if I weren't already mad about the glass of milk, and I stand on the coffee table obstructing their view and demand,

"WHOSE ridiculously large glass of milk is this? WHO is the person who will be drinking water from the cat's bowl all of next week? WHOO...."

Before I could finish my sentence, my wife removed the backing from a nicotine "patch" and slapped it onto my forehead, which I believe was more for the excuse of being able to slap me than anything else. She then told me to "chill". The patch, although just an excuse to slap me, seemed to help ease the tension a bit. So off I went, my socks sloshing in the milk that I had spilled when I was waving the glass of milk above my head for emphasis.

Perhaps a little fresh air would put some distance between me and THEY, who would relish in making me furious. Outside I went. As I walk out the door, I nearly trip and kill myself on one of those "beany" stuffed animals that has been left right in the middle of the porch. A "beany" cat, which would have been enough to anger me simply because the stupid cat's name is "Frisco", and is clearly printed on the tag which is sewn onto it's butt, had I not already been livid that the vile creature was sitting, and smiling, in the middle of MY....MY PORCH.

This makes me so mad that I am relieved of all rational train of thought.

It makes me want to grab the stupid cat, dowse it in gasoline, and then IGNITE IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD SO ALL THE NEIGHBORS CAN SEE, WHILE I REPEATEDLY RUN IT'S FLAMING CARCASS OVER WITH THE LAWN MOWER!!!!!!!!!

But instead I settle for chewing on the nicotine patch while sniffing the ash tray from my truck and singing "You are my sunshine". My darling wife, knowing how the quitting smoking can make me a little edgy, brings me a cup of some green tea crap that would probably just make me angry if I wasn't so tired from being angry, and says, "Why don't you go to bed, honey, and tomorrow the 'quit smoking' fight will be one day easier." Thinking she might be right, I headed off to bed, where after a short anger flare up over the idiocy of the English language, particularly the word 'yogurt', I was finally able to rest in peace.

The Bacon Trading Floor.

In our house, bacon is treasured above all other food. My daughters and I are hopelessly addicted to its’ smoky hoggilicious flavor, and because of this, bacon has become a commodity, a currency by which deals are made, goods are purchased, and crimes are committed.

The bacon preparation is an event in itself. The three of us stand in silent awe, watching the sizzling pieces of heaven as they cook. Then each piece is placed on the awaiting paper towel platter where it cools until it’s time for the “weigh in”.
The “weigh in” is a system that was established as a result of the whining, wailing, fighting and gnashing of teeth over who’s bacon share was bigger and better. Each piece is weighed, measured for length and width, and then judged for overall quality. If it happens to peppered bacon, each speck of pepper must be counted and recorded.

Once the shares have been divided and all are satisfied, the bell rings sounding the opening the bacon trading floor.
I start the session by putting a “get out of ‘time out’ free” card on the table for one piece of bacon. Hannah counters with the “get out of ‘time out’ free” card and a fifty percent reduction on her next grounding. A hard bargain, but I accept. I am now up one piece of bacon. Natalie then offers up one of her Barbie dolls for one and a half pieces.

“Brown or blonde hair?” I ask.

“ Blonde”

“ With or without clothes” was my next question.

“ With clothes” she answered.

“ I’ll pass.”

By now, Hannah had already devoured the remains of her share and was on the prowl for more. She slaps down a wad of Silly Putty. Ohhh, she’s got me where she wants me. I love Silly Putty. “One piece” I bid.

“Two” she says.

“Fine! Two pieces you little miser.”

Now with all this hoarding and fighting over bacon, you might wonder why we don’t just buy more and increase the shares. I’ll tell you why. One time when my wife was out of town for the weekend, I decided that the kids and I were going to have bacon fest. I bought three pounds of bacon. That’s one pound of bacon each....well, it sounded like a good idea. Apparently you can have too much of a good thing.

Teaching our pets to be more self sufficient

As the man of our household, and an intellectual type person, I am always on the lookout for ways to further streamline our daily lives, and make things around our home as efficient as possible. This type of thinking has led to many revolutionary ideas such as showering with clothing on (laundry and personal hygiene with the same water) and my attempt at delegating to my daughters, the duties of spanking each other when discipline was in order (admittedly, this was not a great idea, as it tended to look more like a fist fight than discipline).

As I sat down to watch television one night, I was immediately solicited by our dog, Chip, for petting and affection. I then realized that for the entire history of our owning family pets, one could not sit down on the couch without a cat, dog, or some matter of beast, immediately jumping up on my lap and demanding attention.

This is when I began to wonder if there wasn't a better system that would eliminate myself from the whole animal petting social structure. After all, I didn't require the affirmation of the animals petting me! Why should I even be in the mix? Was it not enough that I provided them with a home, food, and a new carpet to poop upon?

After careful consideration, I decided to teach the animals, (two cats and one dog) to pet each other. As with any genius who is far advanced beyond his time, I was instantly confronted with skepticism.

"Remember what happened when you tried to make the kids spank each other!" my wife reminded me for the hundredth time, "do you really want the police here again?".

"This is totally different", I replied, "and besides, the police were here because one of the rocks that the girls were throwing at each other, hit the neighbors windshield! Not because they were using the rocks to discipline each other.

Realizing that I would get no support from my wife, I went forward with my plan. My first attempt was rather straight forward. As I sat down on the couch, and Chip hopped up on my lap, I grabbed the cat who was sitting beside me, and put them together. Both animals stared at me with what might be described as 'confused looks'. Taking the cue, I grabbed Chip's paw, and began petting the cat with it. Lydia (the cat) hissed and made an attempt to escape that involved the brandishing of all four sets of claws. In an attempt to keep the cat on my lap with Chip, I grabbed her tail at the same instant that Chip lunged, sinking one of his fangs into the cat's tail, and the other into my thumb. Chaos ensued.

"Should I call the police now?", my wife said mockingly.

"If you're not going to be supportive, can you at least help by vacuuming up the fur?" I grumbled as I set off to find a non-ripped pair of pants and some bandaids.

Not being one who easily gives up, I planned my next attempt, convinced that the end result would justify the time and effort.

Perhaps pets don't have the dexterity to actually pet each other. Maybe I would be better off teaching them to lick each other since they seem to have no problem licking themselves.

This plan seemed simple enough to implement, I would start by teaching Chip to lick the cats by smearing a touch of bacon grease onto the backs of both cats. Having greased both cats, I set one down in front of Chip. Chip, instantly smelled the bacon grease and gazed up at me with a look that instantly enlightened me to the error in my plan. He looked at me as if to say, "You want me to eat the cat?".

At the same instant, Chip and I lunged for the cat. Chaos once again ensued, but with a noticeably higher degree of intensity than occured with the first incident.

Things eventually calmed down, and as I set off to find another pair of pants, a shirt and band aids, I decided that maybe the end result might not be worth the effort.

I am not a quitter, however, I have decided to postpone my efforts until such time that a safer and more sound method of training the animals to pet each other can be found. I welcome the suggestions of any who see the genius in my vision. Any remarks suggesting that the police be called, need not be made. My wife has a more than ample supply of those.

THE LAST LAUGH (another post from the past)

My wife has returned to school in order to get the nursing degree that she has long wanted. She is a truly super woman. However, her superness is not the subject of my writing today. In the process of becoming a nurse, she is attending many different classes, one of which requires her to possess what I call, "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases".

One night, being the intellectual sort, I began looking through "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases", and became alarmed by all the pictures of the different diseases. There were no less than four hundred and seventy two pages of awaiting death. I decided right then and there that I was going to begin a pro-active approach to my health. . . a disease watch.

I made a nightly routine of taking "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases", and comparing each and every picture of diseased body parts to my own body parts. I then go through my entire list of all nine hundred forty five "Horrifying Disease" symptoms that are mentioned within the book. This routine has made me the victim of my wives ridicule and has even left me branded with the title of hypochondriac. But I shall not relent my vigil. Admittedly, it takes a bit of time, but in the short while I've been doing it, I have already had a few close calls.

The first incident occurred on my way home from work. As I was driving along, I realized that I had lost nearly all the hearing in my right ear. Upon arriving at home, I flew into the house to check my list of symptoms, and sure enough, there it was on the symptom list; hearing loss.

My heart pounding, and sweating profusely, I rushed myself to the nearby clinic to find out what horrible fate that my hearing loss was a symptom of. As it turns out, I was suffering from a simple case of what the doctor called Idiocy. This is the condition that is the direct result of someone forgetting to pull out one of their ear plugs after work. I was quite surprised that they had actually come up with a name for such a thing, but there you have it, I had a case of Idiocy.

I also learned from "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases" that many diseases are a result of our genetics. I immediately contacted my mother and found out that there had been a few cases of Cervical Cancer in our ancestry. Upon further investigating in "The Huge Book of Horrifying Diseases", I found out that Cervical Cancer could be detected by something called a Pap Test.

Leaving nothing to chance, I made an appointment, and went to see my doctor the very next day. I told him of my family history and requested a Pap Test as soon as possible. He apparently thought I was over-reacting because he began laughing so hard that I could not understand what he was saying. A little annoyed at his mockery, I waited for him to calm down enough that he could communicate a little more clearly. I was then relieved to find out that I had no Cervix. So relieved, in fact, that I forgot to ask him how he knew that I didn't have one. I assume that it must have been removed when I was quite young, and he had read it in my chart, or something. At least now I could fill out medical history questionnaires more accurately now, by knowing that my Cervix had been removed.

My nightly routine has also attracted the attention and curiosity of my daughters as well (that is, the parts of my picture and symptom comparing that does not require privacy and a mirror), and has resulted in them becoming more aware of their own health. Last night, Natalie came down and fearfully showed me that one of her thumbs was larger than the other. Quite concerned, I consulted the list of symptoms, but could not find "enlarged thumb" on it anywhere. My wife, Miss Future Nurse Know-It-All, said that both I and Natalie were probably suffering from Idiocy, but a quick check for ear plugs quickly led me to conclude that she was once again wrong. Neither Natalie or myself had any signs of Idiocy.