I am usually one to decry conspiracy theories. I don’t believe the U.S. Government was involved in planning 9/11. I don’t believe that Elvis is still alive and under witness protection by the FBI. And I don’t believe that Charlie Sheen and Joaquin Phoenix have a million dollar bet between them for the best celebrity meltdown. Okay maybe I am wrong about that last one and so I feel somewhat justified in my conviction that my wife and dogs are jointly plotting my demise.
The older I get the more the laws of gravity weigh heavily upon me. My balance, dexterity, and coordination have been replaced with what can only be described as a proclivity to shuffle along lest my feet loose contact with the ground. Realizing this, my wife and dogs have decided the best way to collect the insurance money is by practicing the westernized version of Feng shui.
My wife’s plan of attack is to use small carpets and throw rugs, especially ones that curl up on the end or don’t lay flat, placed strategically at entrances and exits around the house. She reasons that these rugs protect the carpet underneath from becoming dirty. My counterpoint that the carpet is cleaned on a regular basis anyway due to the fact that we have four dogs seems not to budge her or the throw rugs from their stance. Even if tripping me up doesn’t result in a beneficiaries check, she still receives the ancillary benefit of a good laugh at my Chevy Chase like pratfall.
My four dogs have gleefully joined her in her endeavor to see me fall. Using their bodies they often sneak under my feet at the most inopportune times which again, seem to coincide with entrances and exits. They are also found of retrieving bones from their hiding places at nighttime and placing them at strategic points around the house to be particularly effective. Even if I don’t trip during myriad trips to the bathroom during the dead of night, I will at least stub my toe hard enough to elicit a few choice words prompting snickers from the peanut gallery. Annie, my shy dog, especially likes this tactic since any swearing from me requires a deposit into her doggie biscuit jar.
Hopefully I will be around to keep writing nonsense for your consumption for a long time to come. But should some tragic accident befall me, I charge you with pointing the police in the proper direction.
Kevin and the usual suspects