Tongue-In-Cheek … Foot-In-Mouth

The world is full of crazy people; some think they are reincarnated famous people like Napoleon, George Washington, Jesus Christ, or Barney Fife.  While others are convinced they are communicating with alien life forms.  And get this; there are actually people walking around out there, unsupervised, who think they’re able to talk with the, ready for this one, the dead.  Ha!  Losers!

Well, you’ll be relieved to know that your very own personal local humor columnist (me) is completely normal.  That’s right, other than a mild case of severe hypochondria wherein if I so much as hear someone describing a sickness I start to exhibit the symptoms, I’m as sane as a sand dollar.

But this isn’t crazy behavior.  Oh, sure, go ahead and sit there and tell me that you’ve never gone into a McDonalds and overheard two guys talking about the symptoms of Albino Siamese Twin Dwarfism.  And before you had finished your Big Mac you ended up with a full-blown case of it.  Okay, you didn’t show any actual physical signs of having it, but you knew you had it.  You were loaded with it.  You’re darn tooting you did.  See what I’m saying?  This is not crazy behavior.

Anyway, medical conversation on TV can elicit this same rational response from me.  Last weekend on the Discovery Channel this African Watusi tribesman was describing having elephantiasis, which is when a body part, such as your leg, swells up to the size of the Good Year Blimp, only slightly larger.Basically, this puffiness is caused by the obstruction of the lymphatic system (whatever that is) by wormlike parasites (yuck) that live only in Watusi villages, under their pillows.

Understand that I reside in southern New Hampshire, which is approximately five hundred zillion miles away from the closest Watusi village. But somehow after a very close detailed examination of my leg, I managed to convince myself that I had elephantiasis. To be sure, I figured I’d run it past my wife who, according to a recent restraining order, is notably skeptical of my disorders. BTW: I will be using fake names for my wife and me so you won’t know who I am talking about.  I am so smart.

“Ernie?” (That’s my wife)

“What is it, Bibble?” (That’s me)

“Does my leg look like a zeppelin to you?”

“Huh?”

“My leg, does it resemble a dirigible?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Look, it’s swollen three thousand times larger than my other leg.  See?”

“Oh, please.”

“Are you sure? Look, right here next to my kneecap, see the swelling?”

“There’s no swelling anywhere on your leg.  What’s your problem?”

“There was this guy on television—”

“Oh, brother, not again with the medical shows—”

“And he has this elephantiasis.”

“Elephantwhatsit?”

“Elephantiasis, it makes your leg swell up.”

“Your lip is going to swell up if you don’t stop watching those medical shows!  READ THE RESTRAINING ORDER!  I will press charges!”

If you’re a woman who has read any of my columns or if you are married to an actual breathing man, then it comes as no great surprise to know that I did not listen to my wife.   Sure, she’s smarter than me, so’s a rock.  But we men never listen to our wives ’cause we men are, mentally speaking, idiots, and I’m their leader.  As a result, I ended up with yet another life-threatening self-diagnosis.

“BIBBLE!”

“Yes, Ernie?”

“I thought I told you to stop watching “Diagnosis Unknown.”

“Listen—”

“Don’t ‘listen’ me, buster.  Monday you had botulism.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Tuesday you came down with leprosy.”

“Can I—”

“Wednesday you had bubonic plague, rabies and scurvy.”

“Listen—”

“Last weekend it was elephantiasis and heartworm.”

“You don’t understand—”

“And now what do you have?”

“A flesh-eating bacteria.”

“It figures.”

“Do you see the thumb on that guy on television?”

“Ya.”

“It’s black and blue and the thumbnail is bleeding.”

“Okay?”

“The doctor said it is a flesh-eating bacterium.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“Look at my thumb. It’s black and blue and my thumbnail is bleeding.”

“That’s because you just whacked it with a hammer ten minutes ago.”

“Hammer shmammer. I know a flesh-eating bacteria when I see it.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me.  You mark my words, one of these days I’m going to come down with something ghastly, something horrifying, and something so grisly that it will leave me flopping around on the kitchen floor like a stranded mackerel, and then we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”

“I can’t wait.”

Well, anyway, that’s it for this week’s column.  Join me again next time when I will pass along vital information about how to quickly, easily, and efficiently get yourself out of a straightjacket.  Not that I’ve ever been strapped into one.

Copyright 2008 Bill Drury.  All Rights Reserved.