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  • Of Chicken Pox And Hoodies…

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    I’m a little odd, but I guess we already knew that, didn’t we?

    But, my “half a bubble offedness” aside, I’m also a bit of a medical anomaly at times. Just ask my buddy Gina. I say ask her because she’s one of those folks who packs initials around behind her name. As in MD, which as we all know stands for, “Me Doctor.” So, Virginia Witt MD, can tell you I’m an odd duck. Take for instance that she recently suggested that I try Zyrtec for my allergies. Non-drowsy, 24 hour relief, and I can still manage to function and work… Yeah… Uh-huh… Right. I was comatose for 36 hours. But, I don’t blame Gina. It’s all because I’m not quite right in the body chemistry department.

    Just for grins I’ll give you another example, and it will even be far more relative to this story… (How’s that for a ham handed segue? Okay… Well, more of a rump roast handed segue then? Good.)

    Anyway, yeah… Chicken Pox. The itchy, bitchy scourge of kids everywhere. Well, except for those who have had the vaccination, of course. My point is, I had them. Like every other kid on the block back in 19-koff-koff, I had the speckledy spots, annoying itch, fever, and general crabbiness o’ the pox. Good thing I got that out of the way, right? I thought so. Until I was 21, that is. I was working at Videoconcepts (as I’ve noted in other nostalgic blogs) and one of our customers came in with her kid to rent a movie. The next day she called us to let us know that her kid had broken out in the Pox, so beware. Well, no biggie for me. I’d already had them. I was safe.

    Not.

    I contracted them again. I’m here to tell you, Chicken Pox as an adult is just as bad, if not worse, than as a child.

    Okay, so all good. I’ve now had Chicken Pox twice. If the antibodies didn’t build up in my system the first time around, surely they must have on the second go. I am now invincible against all things Chicken Pox related.

    Then I met E K. Now, before you go to emailing the Evil Redhead and telling her that I’m blaming her for something, just hold on a sec. You see, it’s not her fault. As outlined in the “Mahwage” blogs, I “lell in fuve” and courted her. We were married. And then the Chicken Pox came… But, not right away.

    You see, upon our getting hitched, I gained a couple of nieces. However, due to them living in a distant land called Washington State, it was a good bit before I ever met them. However, in the interest of not waxing ridiculous about the one or two years between the wedding and meeting the nieces, I’ll skip forward to the summer of the Chicken Pox.

    These new additions to my extended family were a bounding, energetic pair of girls aged 4 and 5 as I recall. Or, maybe it was 3 and 5… Either way, they were pint-sized munchkins with more energy than humanly possible, and they were an absolute joy to be around. We did the sightseeing, BBQ’ing, and all that stuff that goes on when family visits from out of town. Our nieces took a shine to me, for what reason I will never know, and before long I became “Uncle Murk.” Soon, the favorite game became “Toss Puppy Patch.” Puppy Patch, you see, was a small, stuffed dog. I think it had something to do with a cross between Cabbage Patch Kids and Pound Puppies, which were the toys of the day. At any rate, “Toss Puppy Patch” eventually morphed into games of keep away and catch involving a Koosh Ball… Puppy Patch, it seems, was starting to get a little airsick. Still, we had a blast for several days, and “Uncle Murk” was binked on the Brainpan by a Koosh Ball on several occasions. Yet another reason I’m a bit addled, I suppose…

    However, as with all good things, the visit came to an end. Brother-in-Law, Sister-in-Law, nieces, and even Puppy Patch had to return to the Pacific Northwest. Tearful goodbyes were said, and we all went back to our daily grinds.

    Then, came the phone call. Niece one has full blown Chicken Pox, and niece two is coming down with them fast. No worries. I’ve had it twice now. I’m invincible!

    Not.

    A week later I was running a fever that pushed over the 104 barrier. My back was killing me, and tiny red dots were appearing everywhere. And, I do mean everywhere. The bottoms of my feet, inside my nose, and all manner of other places we won’t talk about. The Pox had come to kill me for the third time. The doctor (Not Gina) told me that I was in possession of the absolute worst case of Chicken Pox he had ever seen during his entire practice. In fact, I came very close to ending up in the hospital. Fortunately, I didn’t…

    I did, however, spend quite a bit of time delirious. One day when E K came home from work during lunch to check on me, she found me literally laying in the middle of the floor babbling to myself. What’s worse, I was so delirious that when I opened my eyes and saw the stilettos and gams in front of me, I was scared to death of her. Not because of her EKayishness as one would  normally surmise, but because I thought she was going to have me “put to sleep.” (We just a few days before had needed to euthanize one of our felines, so my overheated brain was making some very odd connections.)

    And, once again, before you run off telling my niece(s) that I blame them for this, put a sock in it. They already know. In fact, I joke with niece one about it all the time.

    And, besides, niece one is really what this blog is all about.

    You see, all of this happened many moons ago. Better than two decades, in fact. The energetic little munchkins have grown up. They are both lovely and brilliant young ladies now. And, when I say brilliant,  I do mean brilliant…

    So brilliant, in fact, that niece one is getting herself a hoodie today. Or, at least, that’s what I like to call it, just because I’m silly that way. In case you aren’t getting the joke, by hoodie I mean today is the ceremony for her Doctoral Hooding.

    Yep… Niece One is now Doctor Niece One. Professor of American History.

    Unfortunately, due to a prior engagement, I am unable to attend this fashion show. But, I’ve already been in touch with her to let her know how proud I am.

    Still, I really wanted to be there so I could bink her in the head with a Koosh Ball during the ceremony. You know… Just for old time’s sake…

    Congrats, kiddo… Or should I say, Doc?

    More to come…

    Murv

    Please Note: Names have been purposely omitted because I certainly don’t want my nieces to have to deal with the stigma of having me as their uncle. 😉

  • Missouri Kat And The Scarab Of Doom…

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    LOGO
    I have to be honest. I’m rarely shocked by anything E K does, especially if it involves evil. However, please make note that I said rarely. There are occasions when the Evil Redhead will do something that throws me for a bit of a loop. Of course, since I am telling you this now it should be obvious that Her Majesty has recently managed to leave me wondering…

    As is the custom whenever E K is about to do something I will inevitably blog about, I was standing in the kitchen minding my own business. Well, in truth I was minding the business of a pound of ground turkey as I set about fixing the evening meal. Now, what was unusual about this is that instead of pacing back and forth behind me while gently slapping a riding crop against the side of her leg, The Evil One was nowhere to be seen. This, in and of itself should have set off a few alarms for me, but I was too busy concentrating on what I was going to prepare with the ground turkey that I hadn’t already prepared at some point during the 2009 calendar year. (You see, E K doesn’t like to have the same thing twice within a 365 day period.)

    Anyhow, there I was trying to come up with a unique dish that involved ground turkey when I heard a voice from across the room.

    missouri EK and the beetles of doom
    “Hello, Lackey,” E K announced, her tone both serious and bemused. (Don’t ask me how she managed that. It’s an E K thing.)

    I looked up from the meal fixin’s and there, standing in the doorway, was the evil redhead, decked out in her own version of Indiana Jones adventure attire, complete with a fedora and bullwhip.

    Of course, noticing the whip my first response was, “I’m sorry, your worship, I’m cooking as fast as I can.”

    She ignored me, which wasn’t unusual except that she rarely misses an opportunity to enjoy a good bit of groveling on my part. Instead, she stared out the window into our back yard.

    “Japanese Beetles,” she finally said , and then let out a heavy sigh that was obviously filled with deep seated trepidation. “Why did it have to be Japanese Beetles?”

    I screwed up my face with confusion because I was… well… confused. “Japanese Beatles?” I repeated with a questioning tone. “Are they some kind of tribute band?”

    jbeetle
    Popillia Japonica,” she replied. “Very dangerous.”

    “What do you mean?” I asked. “Are they really loud or something?”

    “Hungry.”

    I cocked an eyebrow. “Hungry?”

    “Very.”

    “I’ve only got a pound of turkey here so that might be a problem,” I told her.

    “They’re vegetarians.”

    “Oh yeah, that’s right,” I agreed with a nod. “McCartney is all about the veggie thing isn’t he…”

    “There are Japanese Beetles in the back yard, Murv!” she barked.

    “Okay, okay,” I said. “Calm down. I can defrost some more turkey in the microwave. Not a big deal. Just go out there and stall them for a bit while I get to cooking. So, just out of curiosity are these guys any good? I mean, should we sell tickets or something?”

    “Whiskey,” she replied, a demanding note in her voice.

    “Yeah… Okay…” I returned with a shrug.

    Since she was still holding the bullwhip I decided I had better comply. I pulled a bottle of the good stuff from the cabinet, poured a shot, then placed it on the island in front of her. She picked it up, tossed it back, then slammed the empty shot glass onto the counter upside down. From out of nowhere a Nepalese man dressed in Yak fur appeared, burped, then passed out and fell to the floor. E K proceeded to take all of his money then kicked him a couple of times to make him move out of her way, and of course “just because”… She’s evil like that.

    “Get the pry bars in there,” she ordered, a wild look in her eyes.

    “Do the what?” I asked.

    She rolled her eyes then barked, “Open the damn back door, Lackey!”

    I did as I was told, because that’s what I do. As I turned back to face her I noticed that she had unfurled the bullwhip and was now rearing her arm back over her head. I immediately cowered in the corner, fear running rampant through my veins. However, the sting of her lash never fell upon me. I peered out from behind my hands and watched on in complete awe.

    With a speedy swish and a sharp crack the braided leather snaked out the open doorway, the end wrapping itself around a tree branch. E K pulled on the whip to cinch it tight, then grasped it with both hands, jumped up in the air, and swung through the open doorway and out into the back yard.

    As she flew past me I heard her mutter, “You wanna talk to God, let’s go see Her together…”

    I’m still not entirely sure what all that was about. She insists that we don’t talk about it. Ever.

    All I know is that we never sold a single ticket, I never heard a single Beatles tune, and I’ve now spent the past three days using a paint scraper to get the scarab carcasses off the bottom of her shoes…

    More to come…

    Murv