Gettin' swimmy headed here

“Last Step”

ROOFTOP -- On your way up here did any of you notice what was stamped on the top of the stepladder? I’ve owned the ladder since it’s infancy, and I never noticed. The message reads “Not a step.”

I had no idea. The top of a stepladder is not for stepping. It’s just a place for ending the ladder. The manufacturer adds the warning to cover its posterior. They know that everybody steps on the last step. It’s in the human genome. It’s right across from the section of DNA that tells you to lie when someone calls and asks if they woke you.

The thing about the ladder, though, is that when one of you steps on the top step, and you fall and shatter your fourth metatarsal, you won’t be able to sue because they warned you not to step there. And, you can’t sue me, ‘cause I made you all sign that waver. Remember? It’s on file somewhere.

But, forget that. Let’s get around to enjoying our beautiful, clear and breezy perch. The rooftop is the best, isn’t it? Do you think you’d be able to see that woodpecker over yonder if you were at ground level? No way! You’d hear it banging its head on the oak, but you couldn’t see it.

It really hurts me to watch a woodpecker at work. No way could I move my head back and forth like that without getting a migraine. I think it’s because of all the twirling around I did as a kid. You know, when we twirled around till we got so dizzy that we fell over? I used to do that a lot. Mom would say, “Mark, you’re 19 for goodness sakes! When are you gonna stop that?”

Speaking of which, you wanna know what’s odd? I’ll tell you what’s odd… coincidental, even. I’m getting just a little dizzy right now. It’s this cigar. And, yes that’s the reason I’m sitting downwind of you.

This is the first cigar I’ve smoked in about six months. Big Al gave it to me during the holidays. Practically forced it on me. Told me to smoke it New Years Eve. I might’ve done that, but I went to bed at 10:30. Al phoned at 12:10 to wish me a Happy New Year. I suppose. I don’t remember a great deal about the conversation. I do remember telling him I wasn’t asleep, though.

This certainly is an expensive cigar. That’s the only kind Al gets. If this thing is not a Cuban it’s pretty close to being one. Al knows his smokes. He’s even got a humidor. I’m not kidding. Not only am I not kidding, but I’m not feeling all that well, either. I think I’ll save the rest of this cigar for next year. Maybe stick it in the freezer.

Don’t tell Big Al about this. He already thinks I’m a sissy. I don’t take a punch well, I get headaches when my head bobs around, and I can’t smoke a cigar without getting sick. Not only that, but I don’t like action movies all that much anymore. I’m beginning to scare myself.

Yesterday, I took Kay to see “The King’s Speech.” I’m probably the third nicest husband in the world. The movie is about a British King trying to overcome stuttering so he can talk to “his people” without coming across as a rube. I went for the popcorn.

Turns out I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. I didn’t cry or anything, but I sure got anxious a time or two. The movie was so much better than Stalone’s “The Expendables.” That’s another thing not to tell Big Al.

Uh, Lucy, what are you staring at in the front yard? Are you going to make me turn to see it? Okay. – Oh, that’s the spot where we had our tomato garden. It’s now just a mowed over weed patch. I had hoped it would be our last garden. Not so.

This morning Kay went to town to get some seeds and some tiny growing pots. She told me that instead of buying plants this spring, she’s going to start growing her own. We’re having bell peppers and straight-necked squash.

I asked her what the difference was between crook-necked squash and straight-necked. If I had been just a little slower, her pinch would’ve caught me in a really bad place.

Kay did tell me that straight-necked squash is easier to pollinate than crook-necked, because the crook can hinder the pollen from getting where it needs to be. Sometimes I don’t know if she’s making stuff up or really knows what she’s talking about. After the near miss on the pinch, I acted like she was a gardening genius.

So, if any of you spot a good place for me to stick our next garden, speak up. The last site needs to lay fallow for a couple of years until the saint augustine reclaims it. Then Kay will have me dig it up again, so she can plant radishes and chickpeas.

All of this is making me think I need to have a long talk with Big Al. He’s nowhere near the nicest husband in the world, yet he’s happy as a woodpecker on hard bark.

Speaking of which, just look at that bird. It’s still beating the daylights out of that tree. My head hurts just watching it. Whop, whop, whop! Okay, now I’m getting swimmy headed.

Right, maybe we should climb down. I’ll be last. Maybe I’ll start to feeling better. Oh, and be sure not to step on the top step of the ladder. And, yes I’m just saying that for the couple of you who didn’t sign the waver. Hey, I’ll get you to sign… next time.

END

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