A Question of Personal Preferences.

 

What is it that makes me want to tie certain people to particular clues left behind after I walloped a guy who butt in to a well considered exchange of ideas and opinions? Could it be because all around our unit neighbors report a cascade of odors which foretell a tragic delay of routine licensing procedures? It may be that I'm imagining too many television programs which have never seen the business end of a control panel. It's also not entirely impossible that a forlorn associate who needed time off to transport his aging Mother to a podiatry clinic was suffering from Oppositional Dismissive Disorder [ODD]. Nonetheless, I resolved to send a cure-all through the Postal System in hopes that it might reach the affected party. What I didn't know at the time was how long it would take to get situated in our Nation's Breadbasket once I'd put my mind to it. In what other time in history could one measly stinker hold such sway over obese decision makers and their insufferable retinues? And, by the way, please don't be under the illusion that this is any kind of 'rhetorical' question. Because, if you do, a future guest might get bumped off.

I know by now that what could clinch the deal would be the kind of performance which most grown-ups would be loathe to find indelible in the extreme. In their faces you can see the doubts start to crack, revealing all manner of isolated allegiences. To the contrary, one of our daughter's finest moments was when she turned to my wife (her genetic mother) and said something which neither of us will ever forget. It happened one night at about 2:29 AM, in the last week of June 2006. I'd been studying the Bible in my den when, all of a sudden, there was a loud crashing noise coming from our neighbor's carport. It sounded like someone had strung together some pots and pans, and then decided to sit down, very calmly, and write a short note to a former acquaintance from the copper shielding industry. Weirdly for that time of night, I saw a group of middle-aged men gathered at the corner down the block. They all wore tunics of varying muted colors. That's what gave them away. Never before have I felt so personally violated.

You'll find that if you use a soft-cell grip on the shorter end, no one will think twice about including you in some harmless repartee. It's a guarantee that, even if they look in your general direction, no one will feel it necessary to go overboard. They'll stick to the basics. Once that's taken care of, there might be a short ride. If the car is a late model affair, it would be a good idea to bring something to wipe down the seat after you get out. When everyone offers to hold hands in a display of infantile solidarity, we advise you to get your bearings in the overall atmosphere. Watch for subtle signs of disapproval. These can be in the slope of the eyebrows, the angle of the wrists or even a mildly haughty tone when asking for a moment of silence. When all is said and done, you have to admit that a mainstay of ineligible narcolepsy is for those of us not otherwise burdened with secondary market devices to do the bare minimum to ensure a peaceful transgression. How could anyone think otherwise?

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