Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 42
Week Five, Reverse-step: You won’t do it. Yeah, that’s the ticket. You convince yourself
that you and your spouse are above this silly holiday. You’re mad as heck and aren’t going
to take it anymore. You march around the house flailing your arms and loudly making your
case against commercialism. But all your wife hears is the wah, wah, wah sound made by
the adults in Charlie Brown cartoons. She’s seen this act before, and she just turns up the
volume on the TV. At some point, even you hardly believe what you are saying anymore
and, again, you go to bed, this time with a headache. Bah-rump, bah-rump.
Week Six, Slide-step: This week slides by while you are still kidding yourself that you
won’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. Of course, that little tiff you had with your wife (Did I do
that on purpose?) helps you think that, this time, she really doesn’t want anything from you
for Valentine’s Day. She even said so, loudly. The neighbors can confirm that. Bah-rump,
bah-rump, bump-bump, bump-bump.
Last Weekend, Stutter-step: You’ve got three nights and two days, with only your office
banquet, a soccer game, church, your brother’s birthday party and fixing the leak in your
roof to take care of. On Friday, you figure that’s plenty of time to find the right gift.
By late Sunday night, up on the roof and in the dark, you know it wasn’t. But you’ve still got
a couple of days. Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.
Feb. 12, Italian Shuffle: Something in the deep recesses of your memory bubbles to the
surface, and you think your wife told you once she had always wanted to visit that out-ofthe-way Italian restaurant. You can’t reach them on the phone, so you actually drive there
to make a reservation, praying they’ll take you on V-day.
You realize your wife must have mentioned the restaurant a long time ago, because the
restaurant is now a psychic parlor.
But, never one to overlook an opportunity so obviously provided by fate, you go in for
advice. An hour later and a hundred bucks lighter, you know the day and method of your
death and that, until then, “good things are on the horizon.”
And the gift? Well, even you don’t fall for the psychic gift certificate suggestion. BUMPBUMP, BUMP-BUMP, BUMP-BUMP
