I'm not to old to miss a conspiracy

I’m not old, even though I have a great-grand child. And even though I box and can remember my address, I’m having challenges that are not related to clearly seeing the itty bitty lines on an insulin syringe. As a matter of fact, other than being bald, overweight, arrogant and sarcastic, I’m doing pretty good as far as geezer humans go.

With that in mind, I’m young enough to recognize that a conspiracy is afoot. Last July it was hot here in Oregon and I was in my garden drinking a beer while planting some broccoli. Yeah, I can drink a beer and use a shovel at the same time, although I haven’t been able to figure out how to light a cigar without putting something else down. I prioritize.

It’s hot, the sun is beating down on my head like a glass of warm tomato soup, and these two young fellows walk by and greet me respectfully. I greet um back and the talkative one stops and points to my roof. In a cheerful tone, he asks, “Hey, is that a swollen camel on your roof?”

I don’t put my beer down. Instead I take a moment, a brief moment and study him for a second. He is sincerely curious, so out of respect for that I slowly turn and take a good look up at my roof. Who knows, maybe I got some sorta weather vane up there I didn’t know I had. And who knows, maybe it looks like a swollen camel. I’ve hear of crazier things . . . perhaps not recently, but I’m certain I have since I am pretty old.

Nope, nothing that can pass for a camel—one hump or two. I turn back, take a second to steady myself and my beer on the shovel and deadeye him, “Did you just say, ‘Is that a swollen camel on your roof?’” Mind you, I was serious and tripod steady when I asked him such a reasonable question.

Unlike you, good reader, or anyone you would call a friend, this young fellow immediately fell down on the sidewalk laughing like a hyena on too much nitrous oxide. His friend wasn’t so personally involved. He took the conservative approach and shifted up the street, away from both his hysterical pal and from my driveway.

After sitting up from his fetal position, the young fellow finally caught his breathe and said, “NO, I said, ‘Is that a SOLAR PANEL on your roof?’” I have to give it to him; it took more than a quick oats kind of human to spit that out without breaking up mid sentence.

I’d like to say I was cool about the way the conversation changed directions, but instead I gut laughed in a downward spasm that drove my massive forehead straight down and into the shovel handle that I had been using as a resting device. If you, like this kid, enjoy a good slapstick, then you probably feel a little envious.

But honest to God it gets better. That is if you like to watch lemmings or worse if you have a shred of empathy. The next day I was sitting in my office working on my computer (sounds like I was doing something vital huh.) My wife is at her desk and one of her gal pals comes over and they start talking. She explains to my wife that she was a little late because she had to at least wash her, um. I don’t know how to say this, but it rhymes with grits.

I’ve been married a lot of years, some years were longer than others, but I had never before heard that expression or base exposition in casual conversation. I know I blushed and ducked my head down closer to my keyboard. Knowing my wife, I expected her to respond with some regal comment like, “What the heck did you have to say that for?”

Nope. She nodded and they went on to discuss whatever it is that women talk about. I last about two sentences before my eyes cross. I guess I have a block on female communications. Taking advantage of that block I started thinking fast about the sorts of things guys talk about when they don’t have the opposite sex in the same room. Thinking back, my brother never said, “I’ll be over to pick you up for the ball game as soon as I [do my own peri care].”

So, I ask her the question. “Did you just say, “I would have been here sooner but I had to wash my [rhymes with grits]?” Without a pause, they both started howling and snorting like professional women do. When she caught her breathe, she said, “NO you goofball. I said, I had to wash my PITS.”

She was laughing too hard to slug me, so my wife did, and my arm is still sore. I didn’t realize old nurses could hit like that. I guess when you’re involved in a conspiracy you get some an extra ration of strength. I’m on to them though. I’m on to all of you.