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An eleven-year-old Atlanta sixth grader has been given a two-week suspension for
possession of a suspicious wallet bearing the image of one Tweety Bird, middle
initial unknown. School authorities say the key chain attached to the billfold
violated the district’s “zero tolerance” weapons policy; heaven help her if
she’d been found in possession of a puddy tat. In any event we ought to know by
now that this type of ban never works. As the saying goes, “When Tweetys are
outlawed, only outlaws will have Tweetys.”
*****
Eh, what’s up,
pug? Since my column on the beast, I have traded emails about my daughter’s pug
puppy with a long-time reader, a former pug owner herself. Mentioned that after
a two-day fishing trip with my daughter the first thing we noticed on returning
was that the dog was fat. Why? My wife thinks everything that draws a breath
“looks hungry” and will feed accordingly if left unsupervised – why our kids
don’t weigh 300 pounds apiece is beyond me. Anyway, the reader suggested a
low-cal cure for the little glutton’s bottomless appetite: Carrots. It works,
but watching the wee gnome gnaw a carrot is the second silliest thing I’ve ever
seen, behind only the actual dog herself. The carrots also give her regular
chew toys a nice break; I’m sure our cats would thank you if they could, Cleo.
*****
I guess he was
just dying for a change. The last line of the obituary of James E. Fete, 71, of
Canton Ohio, read as follows: “In lieu of flowers, vote Bush.” That might be a
hard request for some folks to honor, at least those who wouldn’t be caught dead
voting for the other party. If Mr. Fete had planned a little better he might
have arranged to be in Chicago for his final exit. They wouldn’t let a little
thing like that keep ‘em from the polls there.
*****
My wife has
started taking evening walks around the neighborhood for exercise, which was
fine until she took to dragging me. She claims she wants me along because she’s
more worried about me than herself. (Translation: “You’re fat.”) And of course
I have to remember my hat (“You’re fat and bald”) and insect repellant (“You’re
fat, bald, and sweat too much”). Love may be blind, but it’s not necessarily
stupid.
*****
It has been
years since I’ve been to a full service hand car wash, but recently indulged
myself, or my van anyway. I discovered that along with the usual menu of washes
and waxes, one must now select a scent from a boggling array of deodorizers. A
sort of an aroma therapy for cars, I guess. Finally settled on “new car,” in
which I found a certain dark humor given that my old ride should hit 200,000
miles before Thanksgiving. The joke was on me: The odor might more accurately
be described as “wet dog.” At least it’s not “wet dog with carrot.”
*****
Girl-Child is
finding high school much more challenging than eighth grade. I keep assuring
her that life only gets tougher (in which, oddly, she takes little comfort), but
she is convinced it can’t. Math is especially stressful. Interrupting an
algebra session at the kitchen table, she stared woefully into space and
muttered “I just want to go back to kindergarten and eat paste.” I know the
feeling. Some days I just want to go back to high school and study algebra, but
will not share that thought at the kitchen table.
*****
I once read a
magazine for small business owners that held an annual contest for the best
business name. That year’s winner was a beauty salon called “Curl Up And Dye.”
Just heard an equally catchy slogan for a web site touting one of America’s
favorite disposable diapers: “Log on to Pampers.com. We’re right behind you.”
For this site, I’m guessing the obligatory “www” stands for “wet, wipe, wrap.”
© 1997 – 2002 Brent Morrison
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