I was sitting in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair just now, wearing my bathrobe with the Louie-Louie Generation logo on it when my doorbell rang. It was my next door neighbor Randy. I call Randy, “The Fish Whisperer”… as in “here little fishy…come to pappa.” As soon as I opened the door, there was the distinct aroma that can only be acquired by a guy who has spent all day in an open boat on the ocean with two other sweaty sushi slingers. He had a smile on his face that was so wide, his ears were drooping, and he was carrying two very substantial gift pieces of trout in a plastic bag.
Randy is a buddy. And he knows that although I don’t go fishing a lot, I do like fish a lot…especially when they’ve been beaten into submission enough, so they’re sitting still on a dish in front of me. Randy likes the fishing as much as the eating. Maybe more. I don’t think he really cares how many fish he catches. He always says it’s called fishing, not catching. He’s a little like guys who build their own airplanes, and then fly them. Those planes are called home builts, and they usually come in kits…just like the model planes we had as kids. Except bigger. Much bigger. And more expensive. Much, much more expensive.
It’s not unusual for a guy to spend ten years building a home built plane. Then he’ll fly if for a few months and sell it. And then start all over building another plane. Quite often the wives of guys like that have a lot of free time. Randy’s wife, Bernadette is a very understanding lady. She has no problem with Randy going off with the guys to spend a day swapping lies, sweating, and… oh yeah…fishing. My Lady Wonder Wench quite often goes with me when I go down to the airport to fly my little plane, but she doesn’t mind when I go by myself…which I do sometimes to fly the maneuvers the FAA requires to stay current for flying at night or in the clouds.
But when Bernadette or my Lady Wonder Wench go away…it’s a slightly different dynamic. Bernadette and Lady Wonder Wench are good friends. And they watch out for each other. I heard them talking the other day, and Lady W.W. was telling Bernadette that she’ll keep an eye open for women going in or out next door while Randy is home alone. Bernadette is going for a short trip.
They both laughed, because they both know that Randy doesn’t fool around. But it’s an interesting perspective. It’s almost like they were tapping into the male fantasy world. Think about it. There she is…a Catherine Zeta Jones look alike and she’s keeping 27/7 watch from her conveniently located five bedroom tree house across the street. She sees Bernadette leave, and gives the signal to a restless regiment of lust crazed porn stars who just happen to be lurking in Randy’s bushes, and together, they leap on poor defenseless Randy’s bones and have their way with him. Believe it or not folks even though Randy is a reasonably nice looking young guy, it almost never happens that way.
In fact, on the sexy scale, if we all agree that my Lady Wonder Wench is a 10, and Catherine Zeta Jones is a 9, then Bernadette comes in there very comfortably with a solid 7 plus. So why aren’t Randy and I the ones who get worried when the girls are on the town? I guess either we’re too dumb, too self confident, or simply have better things to do.
A lot of things in this life are like that. They come under the heading of…”yeah…I could do that if I wanted to, but it really not worth it.” Bungee jumping comes to mind. Surfing 40 foot waves is also up there. So is saying nothing to a wife who has just informed you that she’s “not in the least bit interested in anything you could possibly say” is in that category too.
Some things could be useful, but they’re simply, really not worth the effort. Like whistling through your teeth. I’ve tried doing that and it doesn’t work for me. Could I learn how… sure. But why ? If I want to get somebody’s attention, I can just make the hand under the armpit sound, and wiggle my ears. The nine times table comes under that heading. I’m ok till you get to 9 times 6. But why sweat it ? For five bucks you get a little hand calculator. Spelling is like that too. I was a disc jockey and a therapist. Who had to spell ? Talk. Don’t write. Talk. Or if you’re backed into a corner like a trapped animal…use the spell checker, or subsititute some simpler word. Spelling is how Lady Wonder Wench came into my life. She was my secretary. She could spell. So…she’s smarter than I am…so what. I like being Wonder Wench’s arm candy.
Dick’s Details Quiz. (All answers are in the current podcast)
1- What percentage of New York Mets baseball fans believe in miracles ?
2- What kind of can will you never find in a supermarket ?
3- When is a colt really a filly ?
Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind.
We were talking about fantasies a while ago. Fantasies pack a powerful punch. Sometimes they sneak up on you while you’re just doing… what you usually do. And all of a sudden…your life takes off like a rocket in a direction you really didn’t expect. There is a story about that in the Bedtime Stories personal audio cd. It’s called “Nothing Happened.”
That story was a once upon a time, a very long time ago. But the guy in the story has never recovered from that night. And when the woman in the story talks about it…she always does it with a very gentle smile. If you like “Nothing Happened,” you can just keep the current podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just go back to www.dicksummer.com and download it from the Bedtime Stories icon on the home page.
You know, my life has been awfully good. Which probably proves that you don’t have to be rich, or good looking or terribly smart to have a good life. You have to be a little lucky, you have to be willing to work hard… but smart? Hey, Big Louie, his own bad self, the chief mustard cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation puts it this way. He always says, “If you want people to think you’re smart, just think of something really stupid to say, then don’t say it.” That always works for me.
Of course, I guess part of it depends on how you define a good life. Here’s how I define mine: I’m happy. That’s about it.
And one of the many things that makes me happy is the fact that the Fish Whisperer who lives next door, is comfortable showing up late at night… fresh from a fishing trip…with a big dumb grin on his face, a stinky sweatshirt and jeans…and a couple of big chunks of recently wiggling fish. And between us, we have a couple of wives… who think we’re still sexy enough so that they can at least kid about having to be on a constant look out for ladies like Catherine Zeta Jones.