I Had A Stepsister Once - It's A Miracle She Survived

After 13 turbulent years of marriage, my parents finally got a divorce in October 1962, the very same month and year as the Cuban Missile Crisis I might add - how poetic, and within less than two months later both had remarried.  My two younger brothers, Chet and Tom, and I had no clue whatsoever as to how soon our lives were about to change.  Little did we realize that over the next 36 months we would live in six different houses, change schools four times and live in an environment that can best be described as sitting at the "cool" table in a cafeteria at some mental hospital.  The woman our father married had a 9-year old little girl by the name of Katha and she wasn't exactly in any hurry to suddenly have three brothers and a new father, nor was the stepmother adequately prepared to take on such a task at this stage in her life.  Let's just say this "new" family unit had the makings of a train wreck from day one.  Beautiful - just flippin' beautiful.                           

The first couple of months weren't anything to jump in front of a Greyhound bus over, but as the summer of 1963 rolled around the antic's and drama began rising to a boiling point.  One hot, sweltering day my brothers and Katha were in the backyard playing and one of the older one's got the brilliant idea they would dig a shallow grave and place my youngest brother Tom in it.  Chet and Katha were then going to sell tickets to all of the neighborhood kids to see "a dead Indian baby" and make a lot of money.  Tom was all for this idea until he was informed they would have to bury him up to his mouth to make it look real and this is when the wheels came off the wagon.  He jumped up and said he wasn't getting buried for anybody and that's when Katha thumped him on the ear and called him Dumbo....that's when the fight started.  Chet and Tom tackled Katha down to the ground and proceeded to put hand fulls of dirt in her hair, down the back of her dress and shoot snot rockets on her glasses.  As to be expected, she took great offense to this rough house behavior and went screaming in the house to her mother and proceeded telling how she had been "attacked".  In less time than what it takes a gnat to break wind, our father was standing at the back door telling my brothers and I to get in the house right then.  We knew from previous dealings with our father that when the veins in his neck pulsated with every beat of his heart, that meant his belt was coming off and the ass whoopin' was about to begin.  Even though I had not participated in this humorous act of sibling delinquency, the stepmother was adamant that I should get my butt beat for not stepping in and stopping my two brothers.  Little darling Katha started the fight to begin with, yet as the big brother I was supposed to stop them from retaliation?  Nah, I don't think so Gunga Din.

When school started in the fall of 1963 we had moved to another house that I thought was fairly nice.  The only real draw back was that when Chet and I walked home from school (yes boy's and girl's we really did have to walk to school in those days), we had to walk down the alley that ran behind our house and there was a little yapping dog that was a real nuisance.  Sometimes the little fur ball would run up to us and sink those little sharp teeth into an ankle, sock or shoe and then run like the wind back to the porch.  This whole dog biting thing got real old, real quick.  One afternoon while walking home from school, we saw the dog bolt from the back porch in a dead run towards us and I grabbed him around the neck to hold him still while Chet reached down by the trash can and grabbed the nearest corn cob he could find.  He raised the dog's tail straight up in the air and began scrubbing its' butt hole in rapid fashion as though he was buffing a shoe.  Wwwooo wwwee Deputy Dawg!  By the time we let that little turd hound loose his round brown was smoking and he ran directly to the back porch where he commenced licking his burning butt to sooth the pain.  Needless to say, from that day forward Chet and I never got bite by that little dog again.  In fact, whenever he would see us walking, he would sit on the back porch, watch every step we took and gave us the "stink eye" the entire time.

By the early Spring of 1964 we had moved again and into what can only be described as a run down shack, and in a part of town that was well known to the police and sheriff departments - they weren't strangers to the neighborhood.  There were no screen doors on the front or back doors, no screens on any of the windows and the only air conditioner in the entire house was a window unit in my parents bedroom; therefore, all of us kid's got fresh air from open windows in our bedrooms.  Living in the Texas panhandle there was always an ample supply of wind and pesky flies.                                     

One Saturday morning my brothers and I decided to slip off for the elementary school without Katha knowing to play on the playground equipment.  We were told numerous times to never go to the school after hours or on the weekend by ourselves.  Why we weren't allowed is still a mystery to me even to this day, but nonetheless it was one of their rules.  Anyway, after spending an hour playing we started walking back home when all of a sudden Katha makes her glorious appearance at the front door with her hands on her hips and said in a smirking fashion "I know where you went and you didn't take me with you.  I'm telling Mamma and she'll have Daddy use the belt on you again."  That's when I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off the porch and put her in a head lock.  Tom put his arms around both of her legs so she couldn't run away while Chet made a fist and began scrubbing her head with his knuckles giving her what we called a nuggie.  I don't recall the exact words Katha said but it certainly pissed Chet off enough that he put his right hand all the way down into his underwear and scratched his nasty, sweaty butt.  He then pulled the hand out of his pants and put two of those stinky fingers in each of Katha's nostrils and said, "If you're going to act like a butt hole, then you need to smell what one is like."  Between Katha screaming and all the noise's my brothers and I were making, it didn't take but a few seconds for our father to open the front door and leap from the porch like a rampaging silver back gorilla and commenced beating our asses as though we had stole a government ham.  Note to self: Attempt to get your ass beat inside the house instead of outdoors. The old man has got way more room to swing that leather cowboy belt in the open spaces. Besides, all your friends can watch you dancing around in tight circles while your dad is right behind you swinging his belt as though it was a $500 golf club.  It's embarrassing as all Hell when the entire neighborhood witnesses you getting an ass whoopin' in public.

I could always tell when it was getting time to plant a garden and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the Farmers Almanac.  It's when our father and stepmother would reminisce on the food they ate during the Great Depression and some of the meals were just down right disgusting.  Such as calf brains with scrambled eggs, pickled pig's feet and cabbage or chitlins (hog intestines to the uninformed) and corn bred.  Oh dear God, just gross me back to the Stone Age!!  Thus, the end result of these unappetizing meal time moments was Jim and Chet digging a vegetable garden in the backyard.  So why isn't Tom and Katha participating in this grand event?  Tom was only five years old and the stepmother said Katha "wasn't as strong as you older boys".  In my teenage mind Katha certainly didn't have any problems picking up a knife and fork at the dinner table, so her taffy butt could certainly help plant the veggie seeds if nothing else. Weak, very weak.                      

My father used to have a saying that "all a man needs is a strong back, shovel, sharp hoe, rake and seeds to feed a family".  After us three boy's weeded the garden we went back inside the house to our bedroom where we laid down on the bed trying to cool off from the summer heat with the window pushed up as high as it would go.  Remember, we didn't have any ceiling fans or air conditioning in our room back then.  Within just a few minutes Katha darkened our bedroom door asking if we wanted to ride bikes or go outside and play; to which a resounding NO was the reply.  This was not the response she was looking for, because there was nothing on TV for her to watch and no other girls her age in the neighborhood to play with; therefore, she had to lower her standards and ask her sweaty derelict stepbrothers to entertain her.  I need to point out that not one of us had what could be described as good negotiation skills at that age and it didn't take long until her request turned into verbal combat.  Before God could get the news, my brothers and I had wrestled Katha to our bedroom window and proceeded to throw her out of it.  Ya' know, for a 10-year old she bounced real good!  It was only 5' from the window to the ground, so she certainly had ample time to pull a tuck-and-roll maneuver had she so desired. 

For reasons unknown to only the Almighty, my father and stepmother came to the glorious decision that we needed to move from Texas to Arizona.  It wasn't until many years later that I was told the primary reason for this move wasn't because they wanted to broaden their horizons or seek their fame and fortune.  It had to do with my stepmother's sisters being very, very angry over remarks and decisions she had made about their jail bird brother George or as my fatherly affectionately referred to him as "peter shakin' George".  There's no doubt the man was a pervert beyond help, but when he started waving his little Elvis at his own children, then he's off to the slammer where he can become Bubba's prom date for a long time.  

The arduous drive from Amarillo, Texas to Mesa, Arizona is approximately 691 miles of hot, dusty plains and a very dry desert.  Making that road trip in a beat up 1952 Ford pick-up and a 1957 Chevrolet, with neither vehicle having any air conditioning, in the middle of June called for pulling into roadside parks during the hottest part of the day and continuing our journey much later in the afternoon.  This was back in the day when people traveling in the summer would have water filled canvas bags hanging in front of the radiators of their car to help keep it from over heating.

When we pulled into this flea bag of a no tell-motel in Mesa, the expression on that woman's face behind the counter was priceless.  The only difference between what we looked like and the Beverly Hillbillies on television was they had better seating arrangements.  Lucky for us Dad got a job fairly quick in Casa Grande and it was only a two hour drive south and across two Indian reservations - Pima and Papago.  After living in a rental house in town for a few months, my father and stepmother took the leap of faith and bought an eight acre farm way out in the country and to them it was their piece of utopia. The house was very tiny - three small bedrooms and one very small bath - for six people.  Jesus, it was so small that you had to go outside to change your mind.  The five acres of farm land was stacked over 10' high in tumbleweeds that had been collecting there for God knows how long.  Oh, this is just getting better and better.  I was sitting on the very edge of my seat in great anticipation of tackling this monstrosity of a nightmare.  What in the name of all that's holy and righteous was my father thinking when he bought this place?       

So, here we were 30 months later after my father and stepmother have made the trip down the aisle of holy matrimony and we're living 10 miles out in the country where the hoot owls are fornicating with the roosters and chickens.  When the truck finally died, we were left with only one vehicle and that meant us kids had to ride the bus to and from school everyday, which wasn't that big of an issue - we enjoyed it for the most part.

It was just a couple of months before school was going to be out for the summer that events on the bus ride home developed into some what of an athletic event for Katha.  Track and field events come to mind.  She felt the compelling urge to thump Tom on the back of his ear multiple times and whenever he would turn around to retaliate she would get the attention of the bus driver, who in turn would tell Tom to turn around and be still.  When the bus finally let us off at our stop, Katha bolted in a dead run down the quarter of a mile dirt road towards the house, all the while we were helping her in this race by throwing rocks and clods of dirt at her the entire way.  Of course she got inside the house without too much damage, mainly to her pride, but she had no difficulty in frothing at the mouth and spewing forth all the deadly details of how we "threw rocks and hit her in the back and legs" multiple times.  God, she was such a snitch! How convenient she neglected mentioning the ear thumping she gave Tom on the bus that resulted in her being chased and pelted in the first place.  I didn't know at the time she was practicing her "selective memory" skills.

As to be expected, as we entered the house our 5'1" stepmother had both hands on her hips and proceeded to bark at us as though she were talking to a stray dog in the street.  We heard the ever so clever remark of hers "Do ya' think that's smart?  Do ya' wanna slap?" to which Chet responded "You ain't puttin' your hands on me bitch.  I'll knock you flat on your big ass."  I was not prepared to hear those lovely words spew forth from my young brother, but what the Hell, we're gonna get our asses beat anyway when the old man gets home, so let the games begin!!  My 12-year old brother was without a doubt in far better physical shape than our stepmother and he was known at his school that he didn't take crap from anybody - male or female.  He blocked a couple of her swings to his head and within the blink of any eye Chet gave the stepmother a right cross on the chin and the next thing she knew she was going ass over tea kettle on to the living room floor.  Chet was reaching down to grab her by the blouse and give her another "love tap" when I grabbed him from behind and pushed him into our bedroom.  The stepmother, well, she was laying in the floor squalling about how she was having a heart attack and that when our father got home he was going to give us what we had coming. She wasn't having any damn heart attack - she was out of breath from smoking three packs of cigarettes a day and getting her ass handed to her on a silver platter by a 12-year old boy.

In the 36 months that my brothers and I lived with Dad and stepmother, that was the one time that I truly felt sorry for him.  After spending 10-hours out in the hot Arizona sun working his butt off to  support his family, he was greeted at the front door with a rambling wife who was all too willing to inform him of how she was abused by his sons.  And at that point in time the light went on in my head - this is where Katha gets her snitching and drama talents from.

Note: My father and stepmother were married for over 30-years until his passing away on November 30th, 2005 and buried with full military honors at the veterans cemetery in Dallas, Texas.  During those three decades of marriage, they loved each other very much and to that end, I'm very grateful to my stepmother for providing my father with the deep love and companionship he deserved.

I Was Shanghaied Into Attending A CBD Oil Group Grope

I must've lived in a cave or under a rock these past few years, because until Thanksgiving of 2018 I had never, ever heard of CBD Oil or anything having to do with the hemp plant.  I thought it was a plant to make outdoor rugs and patio furniture.  However, I can now say in all sincerity and without any fear of contradiction, that anyone and everyone who can say C..B..D Oil is either taking one of the multiple products, selling it or thinking of using it.  This product reminds me of the days whenever Tupperware and Timeshares were the rage for the common folk to make extra money.  To illustrate how popular hemp oil has become, my wife and I attended a double funeral up in the panhandle last winter and on the way into Amarillo there was the gigantic billboard that read "Got Aches and Pains?  Let CBD Oil Take Them Away".  So what makes this billboard so unique?  It was on highway I-27 right in the middle of southern baptist country!!  Religious super stars Billy Graham and Orel Roberts would stroke out if they saw that billboard today.  Lawd help me!       

Here it is the end of April 2019 and my young bride has finally managed to convince me that I needed to go to the Hempworx Roadshow in Houston with her. From where I sit, driving in Houston traffic is about as enjoyable as having a root canal or spending the night welded to the toilet after eating a fish sandwich from a gas station.  Since my wife was happier than Oprah Winfrey making another million dollars on her latest diet plan, I thought the least I could do is not spend the entire time at this roadshow finding fault and being the poster child for the dumb ass husband award.  At least the company that was putting this show together had the foreknowledge and thought to at least book it in a nice big hotel with a restaurant and bar.  No beer -- no Jim.  No brag, just fact.

This group grope is a one day event that started at 9am and concluded around 5pm.  The first thing we're greeted with are hundreds of people standing in line to check-in at the registration desk and the number of selfies people were taking was enough to shoot Face Book shares through the roof.  I got the distinct feeling there were a number of these people that don't get out of town very often, so attending this event in the big city of Houston was a 'vay-kay-tion' to them.  To me and my young bride it was time well spent observing other attendee's in line and praying the female population didn't go ballistic with the perfume and foo-foo powder. I did consider taking a canary with us while we stood in line...if the bird dies we need to leave. Of the approximate 1,000 people in attendance, I personally observed only six women wearing dresses and the remainder wore jeans, Capri pants or cut off blue jeans -- being comfortable was the obvious point being made.  (There was a Jehovah Witness conference taking place in the room next to ours and those six women decided our room was more fun...just sayin'.)  The women's footwear consisted mostly of sandals, with a few demonstrating their retailer of choice by the appearance of their rubber flip flops decorated with plastic rubies and diamonds.  I didn't see any of them wearing those pop-off beads that were so popular from the 70's.  What few men were there wore mainly blue jeans; however, there were two that proudly displayed their bib-overalls and t-shirts.  These gentlemen were gracious enough to ensure there was no bovine, hog or horse excrement on the bottom of their boots prior to entering the banquet room.  And to the best of my knowledge, neither of them chewed tobacco or dipped snuff.  Did I happen to mention the rural community was well represented at this gathering??                      

After elbowing our way through the masses at the t-shirt, baseball caps and coffee mug sales table, which I might add resembled nothing short of a Black Friday sale at Wal-Mart, I could hear the distinct sound of rock-n-roll music; good rock-n-roll coming out of the banquet room.  Just as we walked into this massive room, I saw different colored light beams bouncing off the floor and walls; Girl on Fire sung by Alicia Keys was booming from the large sound system and pockets of women attendee's were dancing in their own little area's of the room and shakin' their booty.

We got two chairs at the back and my young bride tells me she was going back to the check-in table and register to get her "free shit".  She no sooner stepped away when I noticed a woman about my age that was REALLY getting into the song Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top.  I have no clue what this woman did for a living before, but I would be willing to bet money it involved dancing on stage and taking her clothes off.  You don't learn those kind of body moves from singing in a church choir or taking gymnastic classes at the local YWCA.  By the middle of the song Disco Granny was really in her groove and had both arms stretched out, grinding her hips and shaking her shoulders so hard that I'm surprised her big boobs didn't blacken both eyes.  Disco Granny looked to be doing her version of one of those dances from Saturday Night Fever with John Travolta.  Thank heavens there weren't any fireman poles scattered throughout the room or it could've gotten ugly real quick.  As a good friend of mine likes to say "I've been to three county fairs, two hog killin's and a taffy pull, but I ain't never seen anything like that."

All of a sudden every light in the room comes on, strobe lights and music were switched off and on to the stage bounces the Master of Ceremonies (MC).  The entire room explodes into applause, whistles and women of all ages and shapes jumping up and down faster than a fat kid in a Dunkin' Donuts.  There was a group of about 60 women in the middle section of the room that kept yelling Yee-Haw, Yee-Haw! Really?  Is this the best they could do...Yee-Haw?  There is over one million words in the English language and Yee-Haw was all this bunch could come up with?  Just poke me in the eye with a stick and get it over with.  Maybe it's a Texas word that's passed down from generation to generation to describe a happy, joyous moment such as a rodeo or a shot gun wedding.  Or maybe it's a secret password for this group to demonstrate how to butcher the English language with one simple word.  Who knows, but one thing is for certain, they ALL wore the same t-shirts that had Goddess of Hemp printed on the front.  The Hempworx organization calls these women a "team"; however, I'm more inclined to think of them as a "tribe".  I base this assessment on they all could say Yee-Haw on command, they wore identical t-shirts and this group of women had more chins than a Chinese phone book; thus, I now address them as the Chin Tribe.

To enhance the credibility of the Hempworx product and to motivate everyone in the audience, three motivational speakers were brought in to address the crowd of a thousand and each of these speakers had personally gained wealth from selling the various Hempworx products.  Of the three speakers it was the middle aged woman by the name of Chris from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania that really got the crowd whipped into a frenzy....ricky-tick, toot-sweet.  No sooner had Chris gotten on stage and she took total control of her audience by pacing back and forth, shouting "Can you say we can do this?" and the crowd roared "We can do this!", "say it again people" and they responded "We can do this!".  Watching this woman work her audience reminded me of all those Orel Roberts tent revivals my grandparents watched on TV.  The Chin Tribe got so worked up over Chris's presentation that I kept looking for men carrying bed sheets to catch those who had "gotten the spirit" before hitting the floor.  Chris was so good at this, that she was brought back for another hour of speaking after lunch.  Catch em' while they're hot baby! You're on a roll!
                                       

By the time Mickey's little hand was on the 4 and his big hand was on the 12, my saturation point for rah-rah motivation was fast approaching and when that happens, boredom kicks in and then it's all over but listening to the fat lady sing.  I had to get up and go stand in the back of the auditorium because my ass hurt, both legs were going numb starting at the knees and downward, and I was really growing tired of hearing the Chin Tribe say Yee-Haw after every other sentence.  Let's just say they were startin' to grate my nerves something fierce.  May all their children be born naked and riding a snow mobile...just sayin'.

Of all the products that were presented by both the motivation speakers and what was listed in the handouts, the mouth spray Peak was the only one that I found interesting.  During Chris's afternoon performance, she was going one by one through all six mouth sprays and what they did for people.  There's a spray to boost the energy level, one to help a person sleep, one for weight management, another to help maintain a healthy life style, another spray for advanced brain nutrition and then Peak.  When Chris made the comment "You men out there ought to try this Peak spray.  Not only is it good for you, BUT it will also increase your libido."  After hearing those lovely pearls of wisdom, I thought "Hot Damn!  I've hit the trifecta!  The wife gives me a testosterone shot every week, I take enough vitamins to keep me healthy for another century and a spray of Peak every morning ought to do the trick.  I'll have the sexual appetite of a Tyrantisaurus Rex!"
                                           

So, what did I take away from spending the better part of a day at this event?  It's unlike anything I've attended before and can best be described as having gone to a circus, rodeo and revival in the same room at the same time.  The only things missing were a rodeo clown, cotton candy and a bearded lady. Would I squander my valuable time and money to attend another one of these rah-rah's over the next millennium?  Only, and I emphasize the word 'only', if I had absolutely nothing else to do with my life and my young bride wanted to go.  Then and only then would I ponder the concept of going to another circus-rodeo-revival at the same time.  However, the deciding two factors playing into this process is: (a) cold beer would be available and plentiful and (b), there would be an ample supply of freaks to hold my attention and determine if Charles Darwin might have missed a few species.

Dolly Wood - Hillbilly Mecca

If humanity had a petri dish, it would certainly be amusement parks and the bigger they are the better the scenery, or as I like to call it "eye candy heaven".  I can watch people for hours from all walks of life mingling around doing whatever they want, as if no one was around to see them.  It's not clear what it is about amusement parks that invites people to not give a damn what their appearance looks like in public, but it's sure fascinating to me.  As a deer friend of mine in Montana likes to say "they're a right good source of humor".

I first became interested in watching people from the time I was in the 5th grade and it was a hobby I picked up from my Indian mother and her father, who over the years had been thoroughly entertained by the masses.  By the time I had reached my sophomore year in high school, I started giving some of the 'eye candy' funny names and doing voice impersonations on how I thought they would sound when speaking (i.e., Gomer Pyle USMC - Shazam, Sargent Carter!, Festus from the show Gunsmoke - Pert near there Doc.)  Fast forward 50 years and I've now discovered that my son has also taken up the family tradition of not only enjoying watching people, but with the invention of the cell phone is also very adept at taking their picture as evidence for all who care to see.  So, without further ado, let me introduce you to some of the poor souls that my son and I saw during last years family trip to Dolly Wood in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  And before I go any further, if by some remote possibility you might happen to be related to any of these folks, do yourself a favor and don't let it get around.  You've got a reputation to uphold.
                                

Say hello to "The Blonde Bomb", who was the first of many, shall I say, "unique"persons of interest we would encounter over the next 5-6 hours of mingling with the other tourists.  Upon closer examination, I discovered that not only did her coat resembled that of a dwarf flamingo having walked in a Gay Pride march in Saudi Arabia, but she was also wearing black leather pants, Elton John sun glasses that were the same color as the coat AND carrying an imitation leopard purse! Oh, you go girl!!! Charles Darwin lost a great opportunity by dying too soon - should've hung around for Dolly Wood to be built. Bah-Dah-Bing, Bah-Dah-Boom!!!  I wonder if her family ever considered her marrying someone from another county or out-of-state?  It would certainly help keep the blood lines pure for future generations by not having everyone in town with the same facial features.
                                                 

Whenever I hear the word hillbilly, I immediately have a mental image of someone looking like this man.  Who knows, this guy could have a doctorate degree from Harvard or Yale in astronomical studies about the earth or maybe working on a cure for hoof and mouth disease in livestock.  But when you're out in public dressed in brogue boots, bib overalls, a flannel shirt, wearing a camouflage hunting hat and sporting a beard, then he's got to have the name of either Cletus or Clyde.  There's every bit the chance that when he's down at the local choke and puke having coffee with the boys, he would be the first to use the phrase "I'll tell you what boy, I'll tell you what", which is a professional courtesy for preparing the listener's for the eventual lie(s) that will follow.  In addition, "Why, I'd knowed him all his life" is often heard in courthouse during bond hearings for a close relative or someone they owe money to.
                                                     

While sitting on a bench, my son and I glanced up and spotted this woman in what can only be described as -- eye opening.  A person from France might say this lady gives the impression she is "mode de vie de vie d'elite", which translates to elite life style in English.  But since she's at Dolly Wood and not France, she's more likely to hear "Excuse me Claude Mae, but where on this side of heaven did you get such purty glad rags?  Why it wouldn't surprise me one little bit if you didn't meet up with Snookie and ya'll went a shoppin' at Walmart, Goodwill or Salvation Army.  Why, I bet your mamma's sewing room doesn't have that kind of uppity material for makin' her quilts.  My granny used to have a table cloth like that for years and years out at the Repossession Acres Trailer Park.                             

Yo, Shrek! Whuzz up dude?  This fine figure of a man sat down on the same bench as my son and I, and at no time did he ever raise his head to see what was taking place around him -- he remained totally focused on what was taking place on his cell phone.  I'm going out on a limb here and come to an analytical assessment that this stunning individual doesn't place a whole lot of importance on personal hygiene or good eating habits.  However, in his defense, I have personally observed on more than one occasion men of this caliber and physique operating and maintaining rides of the carnivals that magically appear during the summer months at county fairs.  At least Shrek isn't sporting prison tattoo's and dabbling a little panhandling to make ends meet to pay for that cell phone.

There you have it my friends.  My very own dog and pony show of just a few selected individuals from that vast entertainment complex of Dolly Wood.  So, the question begs to be asked - do you or do you not have friends and/or relatives that resemble one of the individuals above?  And my answer to the question is a resounding YES!

What In The Hell Did I Just See?

A few days ago I took my young bride to her podiatrist appointment where the doctor was going to give the both of us the nickel tour of what he was going to do during her surgery the following week.

As with any doctor's appointment, I've learned to be prepared for a lengthy wait in the patients lobby and there is every bit a chance the cheeks of your butt will be numb before getting called back to the exam room.  Since my young bride and I got into the medical business going on 17-years now, I've yet to find any comfortable furniture in doctor waiting rooms.  The couches are usually so broken down and smelly, the cushions would keep a pack of blood hounds busy for a month and the seats in the chairs feel as though they're either made of pig iron or smoothed over concrete blocks.  By the time you get called back to see the doctor, the noise you make walking towards the door resembles that of a truck running over sheets of bubble wrap....pop...pop pop...pop pop pop pop.

So, we enter the doctor's office and my wife walks up to the front desk to tell the lady she is there for her 1:40pm appointment and yours truly wanders into an "empty" waiting room, scoping things out to either find something to entertain me or provide me with just a hint of mischief.  Did I happen to mention that I'm not the least bit fond of doctor waiting rooms or having to wait in lines?  Anyway, there are no coloring books and crayons or magazines in sight, much less a newspaper; however, there is a TV mounted on the wall up high enough to keep patients from stealing it without the use of a chair or ladder.  And before I go any further, I want to point out that YES, it is not uncommon for patients in San Antonio to steal from doctor offices.  I know of practices on the south side of town where chairs and coffee tables in the lobby are "bolted to the floor" and there have been instances where patients have been caught red handed stealing the pictures off the exam room wall while waiting for the doctor.  Ah, yes, these pillars of the community...fine, upstanding citizens.

The time is now 2pm, we're still waiting to see the doctor and I've told my young bride in a voice so low and soft that it can only be heard by dogs, that I'd bet this doctor's mother had romantic relationships with water buffalo's and wildebeests during her vacation to Africa. Growing ever so weary of my whining, my wife said "Jim, just give it up and watch TV for awhile.  It shouldn't be that much longer until the doctor will be able to see us.  You're worse than taking a 5-year old."  OK, now that I've been given adult instructions, I whirl around in my chair and glanced up at the TV to see two young, white, adult men embarrassed and kissing each other on the lips!!  What the Hell Cletus, is this a porno flick??
                                   

I snapped my neck back towards my wife and said, "Did you see that?  Those guy’s are sucking face! The blonde guy put his tongue so far down the other's one throat, the poor bastard won't need a colonoscopy for the next 10 years!"  My wife replied "Yes, I see them kissing.  It's two men just showing affection. What’s the big deal?  It's just television - nothing real."  I replied "What's the big deal?  Whaddaya' mean what's the big deal? This crap is on national TV!  Why, I'm surprised the entire southern Baptist Conference isn't outside the television station right now with thousands carrying pickets and bibles in their hands.  Can you fathom how much chaos would ensue if all the people in this town who claim to have seen images of the Virgin Mary in broken tree limbs, washed out river rocks and burned out cars were watching this?  The Governor would have to call out the National Guard.  Sweet Jesus! Texas would be in complete chaos and turmoil!  My God, we almost separated from the rest of the nation over the introduction of the Bathroom Bill last year!

I quickly turned back to the television and saw this same blonde guy trying to talk some big burly guy that had more hair on his chest than a silver back gorilla, to meet him upstairs in his room where he would find out what "High Ho Silver" really meant.  Again, I turned back to my wife and said, "Did you hear what that little blonde headed twerp just said?" and she replied "Yep, I heard every word.  What's your point in all of this?  It's just an afternoon soap opera for cryin' out loud."  "Soap opera?" I said, "Since when did The Edge of Night, As The World Turns and General Hospital change their programming to resemble that of date night in a Panamanian hump-ah-hump-ah bar?  Who sponsors this crap anyway? Johnson and Johnson Vaseline or Trojan condoms?"                                        

                                              

My wife responded "Jim, you're making way too much out of all this.  Just relax and it won't be long until we'll be talking with the doctor and then we can go home."  No sooner had may wife finished that sentence, the medicine aid (aka Nurse Ratched) called her name and took the two of us to the exam room. The doctor finally made his grand appearance about 15-minutes later and told us everything we needed to know about the surgery, where it would be and how long it should take....providing there aren't any complications.  I thought "you're just straightening out two toes, not conducting open heart surgery."  Needless to say, I was more than ready to leave that place.