Saturday, September 10, 2011

More Funk than George Clinton

Other than an exponential increase in toilet paper usage that would indicate the arrival of a small family of refugees, the routine hasn’t been a huge adjustment.  I guess it’s because we are in the vacation phase of any move.  You know, the time when you don’t actually feel like you’ve really moved; you just feel like you’re on vacation?  I mean, we’ve eaten out and shopped which is typical of the agenda when anyone visits me.  We’ve been thrift store shopping and shoe shopping (it’s been a long time since I ran across anyone not homeless who only had one pair of shoes) and grocery shopping. 
One thing that he has shared more than I would have liked is his, shall we say, aroma.  The array and frequency of the discharge from his person is both frightening and awe-inspiring.  Like if you saw Queen Elizabeth on the toilet.  Now, I hoped I wouldn’t have to devolve into so pedestrian a topic so soon but as I write, my eyes are burning a bit, my trusty Febreze bottle is gently weeping next to me and the Glade Room Deodorizer is giving me downright dirty looks.  They are working overtime and making little headway to curtail the odor in the room that has recently been designated a Hot Zone by the JFSB.  That’s Judgmental Former Southern Baptist for those not in the know; otherwise known as me.  I mean it’s not like I am without sin in this arena, but this funk has grown like an over-caffeinated kudzu, people.  And it’s keeping me on my toes too.  Each and every time he gets up from his chair, which is fairly often due to his water pills, I leap into action like those Nascar crews.  I jump up Febreze bottle in hand and spray like one of those aggressive perfume-tester girls who used to inhabit fine department stores nationwide.  I try to ensure I finish the job before he comes back; I don’t want to be rude. Of course, he has caught on as hia chair is a bit moist when he sits again.  I almost had him convinced the moisture was from him but he very sagely concluded it had to have been “your little smell good squirty bottle” as he would “…never pee myself.  I might dirty myself if I farted too hard…”  I’ll spare you the remainder of his musing. 
Of course, I can’t pretend that I am not guilty of the occasional offense.  Those of you from my fraternity should read this with mute admiration and refrain from commenting lest I e-mail your wives with tales of transgressions long ago.  Just sayin’.  However, when I retreat to another room for my discourse, as it were, upon my return he announces, “I heard that!” followed by raucous laughter, which is then followed by a coughing fit which seems to be de rigueur for the elderly.  But even while he’s coughing and laughing in tandem, he is pointing and judging.  Maybe that’s where I get it?
We are having a good time, I must admit.  It’s been fun to show him “my world”, as he calls it.  I keep forgetting he hasn’t seen any place I’ve ever lived since I moved from Biloxi in 2002.  I always saw him at my sister’s, my brother’s or his sister’s. We’ve shopped for a number of things from bath mats to ice trays because he has an issue with drinks that don’t look cold enough.  He makes his hems and haws about me not doing anything special for him, but I know he enjoys it and so do I.  I love to find a bargain and that I can immediately brag about it is priceless y’all.  We both got shoes (tennis and house) yesterday and then I broiled pork chops and steamed some veggies for supper.  I thought about trying to avoid obvious instigators like broccoli and onions but seeing as how oxygen and water apparently make the man gassy, it’s a fight I shall lose dear friends.  Like Custer at his last stand if the Native Americans smelled like feet and butt.  
After supper we watched Cops, looking for relatives.  I’m kidding…sort of.  But as the TV got louder and the funk began to grow, I took leave to my room to gather my thoughts and write another posting.  I never realized how quiet I actually am at home.  I rarely make noise and this is the first time I’ve had cable in moew than 4 years, so I’ve never watched this much TV.  I"ve survived with Netflix and I read a lot.  He reads as well, but with the TV going on in the background.  He’s like the teenager I once was without the aggressive derision, but definitely with the odd clothing choices. 
He’s decided he wants to find himself a fedora or a top hat.  When I asked why he said, “I want people to look at me when I walk by”.  I asked, “Are you saying they aren’t looking at you now?  Because I assure you, they are.”  He said, “Won’t a fedora make me look cool?”  I replied, “No.  Not even a little bit.  Now pick up your teeth and put them in your pocket until supper.”  I’m kidding of course, but only about the teeth.

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