Dear political candidates,
Telling your voters that you are more of something than the next guy does not impress me. What else ya got?
Also, gallantly leaning further into a political slant makes me think that you are less likely to work with others and more likely to sneer at them while making jokes about how their mammas are so fat.
In conclusion: Everything you just said made me yawn.
Come back when you have some original thinking.
It’s 5:30 in the morning. Like an automaton, I start the day. I quietly flop out of bed, pull on my work-out clothes, tip-toe out of the bedroom, and carefully close the door behind me – all to avoid waking my wife. In the living room, I turn on the lamp, normally a trivially mundane act. Today, it evokes an ear-splitting and alarming shriek from my wife. Today, she was sleeping on the couch right under the lamp. Today, turning on the lamp woke her – abruptly.
She slept on the couch all night. She said I “reeked” of alcohol. Months ago she sat next to a large man on a plane whose aroma spoke of drunken shenanigans. She said I smelled like that guy. She complained about my stench before bed. But just after I dozed off, the stench was too much for her, so she fled to the olfactory safety of the couch.
I reminded her that this was all her. Her accusation that I smelled like a drunken fat guy had no basis, seeing that for all practical purposes I am a teetotaler.
Not a true teetotaler, mind you. Normal people may believe me to be a teetotaler. Teetotalers might refer to me as a liar. But I get more oil changes than I do drinks in a year. The whole concept never really appealed to me. I attribute it to some bad experiences when I was a kid. Sparse drinking does lead to some interesting stories.
On my first business trip, some of my coworkers had a night out at a restaurant and everyone had a drink but me. Initially I did not order a drink, but something made me want to fit in this time. I spontaneously decided to get something at the bar on the way back from the bathroom. “Give me the girliest drink you’ve got,” I demanded of the bald bartender. His expression indicated he did not expect those words to come out of my mouth. But, he offered up a huge strawberry daiquiri complete with a crazy straw and fruit salad on the rim. It was a big hit with my coworkers.
A few years ago, on New Year’s Eve, a friend I have known for twelve years was mixing margaritas at my place. He offered me one, but was surprised when I said yes. Apparently, he had never seen me drink. And, I think that was the last drink I had.
It seems to rub off on all of those around me as well. This year for New Year’s Eve, I couldn’t convince a house full of people to have the champagne. Instead, everyone drank sparkling grape juice. Mine smelled like feet, but tasted fine.
I do have my drink. As previously alluded to, I drink Coke. Even for breakfast. I call it corn juice.
This is almost my exact drinking history for the last five years – a handful of drinks and a flood of corn juice. So, as you can see, my wife accusing me of smelling like a drunk fat guy is rather absurd.
I did apologize to my wife, who went back to the bedroom and took her super-human sense of smell with her. We never did find the cause of my noxious bouquet.
Remember back in the day when the mailman walked from house to house delivering mail? Me neither. Mine always drives around in a mail truck. Why are they always on foot in the movies? Maybe if they started delivering mail on foot more, they could save money on gas and stop raising the price of stamps.


