No, I Can't See The Point

As everyone knows, when you get older your vision usually drops off. Things don’t look as clear as they once did, and some things are just to fuzzy to ever recognize. This is why old men in bars smile at all of the women; they can’t tell which one is their wife. And since I do not want to be one of those old men, I have to have an aid to correct my vision.

I used the word “aid” because there is more than one choice now. People can get contacts, even in several colors, they can get surgery, or they can glasses. Some probably get more than one of those, though if you got all three you might be over do-ing it a bit.

For the last few years I have worn glasses. I tried contacts, but they kept falling out of my eyes, and those things are hard to find, especially if are on the front row of the local mud-wrasslin tournament. And surgery, well, let’s just say I am scared of wearing an eye patch. No one likes pirates anyway.

Anywho, earlier this week my glasses broke. This is because I put them under the car when I was changing the oil. They work very well at keeping the dirt from falling into my eyes. Alas, though, they do not work as well with tire tracks on them.

Broke glasses mean one thing: a trip to the eye doctor. The eye doctor isn’t too bad to visit, with the exception of that puff of air he shoots into your eyes. He says that is to test for glaucoma, but I figure it is because he is secretly sadistic. Most sadistic people go on to be dentists, but heck, with those shaky hands, my doctor probably flunked drilling 101.

After the examination, you have the really rotten part to do: pick out glasses. Some of you who don’t have glasses probably think this would be easy, and I suspect it is, as long as you don’t have anyone with you. However, I can never do anything by myself, or at least that is what I am told repeatedly.

So, I sat in his office and tried on 430 pairs of glasses. And I get to listen to 430 reviews of what they all look like. Some are too big and look like Elvis. Some are too round and look like the Beatles. Some rims are too thick and make me look like a geek. So make me look old, and some make me look like an old guy trying to look young.

For hours, I tried on pair after pair, constantly being apprised of the fashion statement I was making with each pair. Soon I had had enough, and made my decision: I would get a pair exactly like the ones I had. This was great except the ones I had were not made anymore, and I would only have to change colors, shapes, and sizes to get something similar. Some days, you are just better off not leaving the house!

In the end, I just went back to my office and dug out a pair of glasses that I had before I bought the last pair of glasses. Sure they look old and run down, but at least they did not require a stamp of approval from the fashion police. Of course, they make me look funny when I am walking, as my knees go really high in the air because the floor looks closer than it really is. At least I am assuming that fuzzy thing is the floor.
Oh geez. It looks like I might just become a pirate after all.

Rednecks Ain't Chicken

I ran into my old friend Billy down at the pool hall last weekend. Billy is the only guy I know that lost his teeth in a hunting accident. He got drunk, fell out of his duck blind, and landed face first with the duck call still stuck in his mouth. Needless to say, that’s a lesson for us all; when you get drunk and fall out of your duck blind, remember to spit out the duck call first.

Anywho, I sat down and I asked old Billy what he had been up to. It seems that he and his 5th wife Wendy were out celebrating the fact that she has out lasted all five of his other wives combined. In other words, they were celebrating their six month anniversary.

“I tell you Rick” he said to me, “Sometimes it seems like I been married to her all my life. She knows what I am thinking before I even done thought it. Just last week, I was watching the Saints game, and she went and shot a whole through the television. Heck, it was the end of the next quarter before I thought of doing that. It’s scary how she knows me so well.”

Intrigued, I asked Billy what he thought was the secret to finally getting things right, especially after 4 failed marriages, 3 palimony suits, an ugly scandal involving an affair with a local politicians wife, and that other case that is still pending in courts in 3 states.

“Rick,” Billy told me, “I am gonna let you in on a little secret. The only reason I ever did all that stuff was because it was all I knew how to do. Now, Wendy done taught me to do macramé and cross stitch, and I enjoy it. I am finally in touch with my feminine side, and by gosh I like it. I can now cry at the movies, talk about our relationship, and I have joined the local Quilting club. Maybe if you play your cards right, I’ll make you a nice blanket one of these days.”

And do you know what I did? I just sat there with my mouth open. I could not believe this was my friend, the man who had spent his off days wrasslin’ alligators and winning. I was shocked. When did the world get turned upside down? Was I sleeping that day?

It was then that he let out a big old laugh. “Gotcha!” he hollered. “Man, you know me better than that.” Then he slowly rolled his eyes, looked around the room, and said to me “It’s the chicken man. That woman can cook fried chicken like no one I ever met. And everyone knows that the road to a redneck’s heart is paved with fried chicken.”

Relieved, I spent a little more time with Billy and Wendy. Finally, I decide it was time and I hit the road to go home. And be danged if I didn't suddenly have the urge for some fried chicken. Heck, I guess me and Billy ain’t that different after all.

I do wonder one thing though: how does he eat that chicken with no teeth?

Mr. October

WOO HOO! October is here! October is here! Can’t you just feel the excitement!!!!

I know what you are thinking. No one really gets excited about October, save a few baseball fans. Most people think of October just about like they do of February, only without Valentines day. However, I see October as much more than that.

October is the month that we get the Red River Revel, the State Fair, and, of course, my Anniversary (the wife would beat me if I didn’t slip that in there). We get some awesome football games, both in college and the NFL, and great tool sales at Sears. But the best thing about October is Halloween!

Halloween is the coolest holiday ever, except that it really isn’t a holiday because I have to work, and it doesn’t start till after dark so you really can’t call it a day either. Anywho, people dress up in ridiculous costumes, attend parties, and play tricks on one another. And the best part is getting to work on those Halloween costumes with your kids.

It is a blast! Kids will spend hours laboring over what they want to be and spend days making a costume, only to change their minds at the last minute. Why? Because “so-and-so” is going as “such-and-such” and they either a) want to dress like “so-and-so”, or b) would never ever want to even consider dressing like “so-in-so”, because they hate him.

Thus, as a parent, I get the wonderful job of doing that last minute magic, and changing that Barney costume into a fairy princess. It’s not so hard, as long the child is willing to accept that there really were dinosaur princesses. That gets a little tough to sell after they turn 10 though.

Ever turn a pumpkin costume into a boxer? Tell them it’s George foreman in his later years. A pirate into a Harry Potter? Tell them his glasses broke and poked his eye out.
A witch into a politician? Well, you can insert your own joke here. ‘Nuff said.

The list is endless. Every year I get to do these amazing transformations, and every year I swear I will never do it again. I tell the kids this is the year they have to decide what they want to be and stick with it. And without fail, at least one of them will have a sudden change of heart, give me a sob story, and I find myself trying to make a clown suit into Thomas The Tank Engine.

The truth is, as frustrating as it is to try to rebuild a costume before it gets dark, I love doing it. I like the rush of the deadline (darkness), the feel of the hot glue gun (I got one that will even bond steel), and, of course, the blackmail (“If I do this, I get first pick out of your bag”).

Actually, I would never pick first. I swear it. Maybe.

So to all you parents out there who spend the time to make these costumes, I solute you. We do it because we love our children, and want them to enjoy this experience and use their imaginations. And heaven knows they can come up with some really wild costume ideas!
By the way, does anyone know what a “zombified alien sumo wrestler” looks like?