Earth in the Balance

Ever awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, wonderin’, wonderin’, wonderin’? Well, I haven’t either. No, sir!  I just don’t go in for that sort of thing. Never have. But I’ll tell you the next best thing – reading a copy of Al Gore’s Earth in the Balance, because by page ten, I can verify it, or, as they say in this man’s army, “I can guaran-goddam-tee-it” – and I mean, with parametric climate-adaptive sensors or without – that I was in the coldest sweat a man ever endured and lived to tell about it. 

I awoke my snoring wife and plumb asked her if she cared about civilization as we know it, because uncontrolled emissions and even bovine flatulence could spell our doom.  She yawned and said that yes, she could spell doom, but wasn’t so sure how to spell bovine flatulence, but that she was damned sure getting tired of mine, and to get to bed.

Before I turned out the lights, I looked out into the ominous night landscape and realized that somewhere out there beyond Peoria, a herd of nefarious cattle was plotting the very demise of Western Civilization.  I hugged my better half extra tight, but was real careful to control my flatulence, because, as they say, every little bit helps.  And if we all do a little, why, we’ll all wind up doing a little.  And that has given me a measure of comfort.

Wrigley’s Romance

The missus and I, well, we’re a couple of cards, if you catch my drift.  Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything she WON’T do. We sat down the other night to watch some Gilligan’s Island reruns and I pops a stick of gum in my mouth.  And just like that, I pops in another. And, heck, pop in another.  My missus looks at me like I was a giraffe or a Hindu fakir or something and says, “Why, heaven on earth, Seymour, what on earth – ” But I beats her to the conclusion of her peroration and pop yet in another.  So, she follows suit.  Pops in one, then another, then before you know it, both of us can’t talk or hardly move our mouths. Then it dawn on me:  I got her just where I want her. So I blow up both of my cheeks and pops ‘em with my hands, while saying, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” “Pop! Pop! Pop!” She’s always been real fast on the uptake and she pops HER cheeks and SHE goes “Pop! Pop! Pop!” to keep up with me. We looked at each other and enjoyed that existential moment or recognition you hear so much about. Now we go through the routine every Thursday night, and dad-burn if it didn’t strengthen our relationship and save our marriage.