Letters from North
America
Lord
help me if I’ve ever got
to live by myself.
Having spent a few days
these past weeks with
some of my bachelor
friends I can safely say
that this type of life
is not good for them and
I’m certain for me. I
don’t think I would
survive for very long in
that kind of an
environment. I need
help. I need help all of
the time.
I might also suggest
these bachelor friends
of mine do as well.
First off, let me
clarify that these are
old guys, not youngsters
waiting to be married;
all of these guys have
been married and married
again at some time or
another. Their wives
either died or left them
or perhaps both, I’m not
sure. I don’t really
want to know either.
The first thing I notice
is a lack of personal
grooming skills. Most of
these fellows have
brillo pads growing from
their noses and ears.
This stuff really starts
to move on you as the
years go by. I can
almost hear mine getting
longer each night. I
have several sets of
industrial size clippers
to weed eat that stuff
back to a presentable
stage, but it takes time
and effort. You can’t
just let it grow or it
will get away from you
in a few short weeks.
These men apparently
never look at themselves
very closely in the
mirror.
Next is their clothing.
They don’t wear pressed
stuff. Some of their
shirts look like they
have slept in them. Not
one of them knows how to
iron. Wash and wear
seems to be the order of
the day. Old wash and
wear at that. The towels
smell musty and I
suspect my friend washes
the same one time after
time. My wife rotates
these so they get
cleaned on a regular
basis. Bless her heart,
I really do appreciate
her. Especially after
being around these guys
for a day or two.
I spent the night with
one of them and opened
the refrigerator, this
was a mistake. He had
some cheese, two six
packs of beer, a six
pack of root beer,
several carrots, a half
eaten apple and several
cartons of milk. There
were also some take out
food containers which
I’d suspect could be
used for a mold growth
experiment without any
trouble at all. A couple
of the milk cartons
looked solid and might
be in the process of
making cheese, but I
didn’t ask. Oh, yes he
had a roll of paper
towels on the bottom
shelf. Why? Who knows?
A big screen television
in every room, with two
or three remotes for
each set. One for the
TV, one for the DVD and
last but not least …one
for the VHS. He probably
has an eight track
player in there
somewhere. My friend is
like Diogenes …walking
around the house always
looking for the correct
remote. I suggested he
buy a universal one that
worked all of the units,
but he avoids new
technology as much as
possible unless it’s a
new truck, then you can
count him all in.
I went to dinner with
the group. This is an
experience you want to
avoid if at all
possible. First off, if
you must go…try to get
to the head of the line
to place your order. By
the time this group gets
finished eliminating the
salt, fat, carbs, red
meat, sugar, gluten,
peanuts, spices of any
kind, or non
decaffeinated coffee you
are no longer hungry.
They cannot place these
orders without telling
everyone within ten feet
about their irritable
bowel syndrome or recent
colonoscopy. The
waitresses and waiters
run to the other side of
the room when this group
starts to sit down.
These guys can manage
e-mail but don’t do as
good on texting their
fingers are too stiff.
Some still use film
cameras and one guy the
other night still had a
pager on his belt. I bet
that industry is dead
and gone. The
conversation started in
the fifties and sixties
and stayed there. It was
like three hours of a
History channel
documentary. All we
needed was Lawrence Welk
and Ed Sullivan to top
off the evening. I think
I saw Elvis, but I’m not
real sure.
I’m being cruel, these
are really nice guys and
I’m picking on them. I
just hope I never fall
into this trap and stay
there. I like my life
and I like having a
wife. I suppose they did
as well at one time or
another, but those days
are long gone. They are
probably wishing they
had someone to fuss at
them for leaving the
toilet seat up all the
time.
I know I’d miss my
someone and I bet deep
down they do as well.
Comments got to
www.pearyperry.com.
Complaints go nowhere.
