November 28, 2004

• The Case of the Missing Truss, or Nasrudin Rides Again!

  
  

  In case you didn’t know, Nasrudin was a great sage (Suni, Sunni, Zuni, Bugsbunni, whatever) who was notorious for being absent-minded.  He once rode  his donkey  furiously around the village, darting this way and that.  A neighbor hailed him, asked him what was up.  “I’m looking for my donkey,” he replied.  Kathy and I do this all the time.  Just this morning, she told me about searching for a boot liner–she found it in one of her boots (they are supposed to go left liner/left boot, right liner/right boot)–she had both in one boot.  Once I spent a while looking for a lost earring, found it tangled in my hair.  This morning, I outdid myself.

  
  

  A number of years ago, I stupidly tried to heave a 100-pound propane tank up out of the snowbank it had fallen over into.  Snap, crackle, pop!  Instant hernia.  Since then, I have worn a truss religiously (burning the incense keeps the smell down).  Usually, I carefully leave it in my trousers when I undress for bed, along with my jockey shorts, and one sock.  The other sock usually winds up in the microwave, or the cat’s litter box, somewhere.  No matter.  Socks are cheap and plentiful.  But I digress.

  
  

  This morning, I got up, donned my bifocals, and got my trou off the table, where I had carefully laid them on top of the clutter the night before.  I noted that the clutter had gotten up to five levels.  I gotta do something about that.  Then I saw it.  Actually, I didn’t see it.  The truss, that is.  I was aghast.  In fact, I was two or three ghasts.  I need that truss.  I have to wear it when I lift anything heavy.  Without it, I have to sit down to pee.  I stifled my inclination to bitch and curse and rave–didn’t wanna wake the kittens (awwww!)–and started searching.  Under the table, nope.  On the chair, nope.   Under my shirt, nope.  In the microwave, nope.  (No, I didn’t look in the fridge–that would be silly.) Then paranoia set in.

  
  

  My god, what if a really kinky burglar had come in during the night?  (I can’t lock my door from the inside, which is why I sleep with a .38 special revolver originally issued to the Argentine police during the infamous Peron era.)  I checked my pants–my wallet was still there.  Checked my shirt pocket–my wad of cash was still there.  Finally, I found my b-list truss, the one with the really crappy buckles with little metal teeth that catch in my shorts, and the sprung elastic.  Carefully climbed into it, not wanting to snag anything important on the metal teeth.  Of course, I no sooner had the damn thing on when I spied my  good truss.  It was on top of the  cardboard box on top of the litter box, under my lunchbox.  I felt woozy–must have been the boxing match.

  
  

  So, I retrieved the thing, finished getting dressed, and  had coffee.

  
  

  Note to self:  in the future, have coffee, THEN start getting dressed.

  • 4:15 pm
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