BillLindau

Tales from the life of LindyOne

MORE HUMOR FROM BILL LINDAU
1. SPLIT DECISION
When I moved from Winston-Salem to Southern Pines, I had spent the whole summer looking at men’s magazines and studying current styles, not for kids my age, but for older guys. This included tweed sport jackets and touring caps. I also purchased an Italian cable-knit shirt called a Rapallo. I was the only 13-year-old kid at East Southern Pines Junior High School who wore a tweed sports jacket and solid slacks. The style for adolescent boys that year was plaid slacks (man, I’m glad those hideous things have never come back in style!).
In October the whole school had picture day. That meant Sunday go-to-meeting clothes for everybody -- jackets and ties for boys, best dresses for girls. Other kids groaned, but I loved it. I came dressed to the nines and loving it.
But one time that day in social studies, the teacher called me to the front of the class to write something on the blackboard. I forgot what it was, but that’s beside the point. Just as I was about to go back to my seat, I dropped an eraser. I bent over to pick it up, when I heard a loud ripping sound.
It came from the seat of my pants and lasted for three seconds.
Suddenly I felt a cool breeze behind me and just below my waist. I discreetly felt back there.
The rip had occurred right in the middle of the seat.
I didn’t look up. That ripping sound was so loud you could hear it down the hall and I just knew every kid in the classroom was shaking in his seat, about to explode with laughter.
I spotted a hole in the floor. I wanted to find a lamp to rub really quick, and if a genie came out I’d have asked him to make me small enough to fit into that little hole.
I slowly straightened my legs, stood upright again, and tried to cover up the split in my pants by pulling the tail of my jacket over it.
I still didn’t look at the kids as I slinked back to my seat.
That’s because the 56-year-old teacher was giving them all killer looks, just daring one of them to crack up. If looks could kill, she would have vaporized the whole class.
I went home with my jacket tied around my waist. I told my mom what happened.
It took her 15 minutes before she could stop laughing enough to drive to a clothing store to buy some more trousers -- in a bigger size than I had on before.
Unfortunately, in the lazy, hazy days of summer, I had found it too hot to do a whole lot of exercise, but it never got too hot for cold sodas and ice cream.
In my quest to dress as well as those male models in the popular magazines, I had fallen way short of looking like them, with their Olympic-swimmer physiques. I remained a stout, slow kid all through high school, and only trimmed down when I graduated and had to pay for all my food.

2. NEVER TOO SLICK TO PAN THE PREZ
One year (I won't mention which year because I want to entertain both Republicans and Democrats) my mother went to the hospital for something serious but not life-threatening.
When the technicians and a registered nurse were wheeling her in for treatment, the RN asked her a few simple questions to assess her mental state: "What year is it?"
Mom told her the right year.
"What state are we living in?"
"North Carolina," Mom said.
"What year were you born?"
"1919."
Then the nurse asked, "Who's the president of the United States?"
Mom looked her right in the eye and said, "A damn jackass."

posted by Bill Lindau @ 6:19 PM