Harmony County

2011 & 2009 Winner of "Best Humor Column" awarded by the SC Press Association

Spring is here and I’m miserable

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   Spring is officially here. It is not so much the calendar nor has anything to do with equinoxes; around here it has to do with a yellow dust.

   Everyone is driving cars of the same color, pine-pollen yellow. To my eye all the world looks like a breaded pork chop. Kids waiting on the corner for the school bus are the same color of the bus if they have to wait for more than five minutes.

   Along with the pine pollen are the personal harbingers of the season. They consist of me going through a box of tissue a day, eyes, with nose to match, are the same red color as if I had been on a three day drunk and the front of my shirt and sleeves looking like I confused them with my handkerchief. Anyone in a room next to me would believe there was a flock of very vocal geese next door that are given to profanity between honks.

   The market is full of all sorts of remedies for my symptoms. Since law enforcement has come down hard on meth dealers it has become necessary for people to identify themselves and to sign for these over-the-counter drugs. That is OK by me, but the raised eyebrows and suspicious looks of the clerks are a little annoying. A little profiling is in order. Just how many overweight, senior citizens with visibly runny noses are meth cooks?

   I suppose the point is mute. If I feel it is necessary to take one of these drugs I go into my impression of a zombie who is very unsteady on his feet and has a speech impediment. I definitely do not operate heavy machinery. Heavy is defined as anything with more weight than a banana.

   When the kids were still around they used to look upon this season as an opportunity to cash in. Since my IQ was reduced to the same level as the previously mentioned tropical fruit ‘getting over’ was the thing to do.

   When I had occasional periods of semi-consciousness I’d notice that my cash was gone and the gas tank in my car was empty. When I raised the questions of what happened to my money and where did the gas go I’d get the response, given with facial expressions of complete innocence and crushing hurt, of “Dad, you said it was alright when we asked you.” In that state I would have given permission for the kids to buy a pet gorilla and keep it in their room.

   So if you happen to see me stumbling around, obviously lost on the trip between my front door and the mailbox, do me a favor. Take me by the arm and gently guide me back to the house. Sit me down on the porch rocker and give me the gentle command, “Sit” much the same as you would a puppy. Somebody will be along to make sure I’m alright.

   Please don’t ask me for money or car keys.© 2009, Jim McGowan


Written by harmonycounty

April 17, 2009 at 4:42 p04

Posted in Americana

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