You’re about to do something so bold, so socially weird that, should you be caught, your career — if you have one — is over. If you don’t have one, you will be issued a temporary, well-paying career with good medical and stock options and it will be revoked immediately. Also, no goodbye party.
You begin very slowly, very quietly. But, wait! Someone’s coming. You stop. You shoot furtive looks (glances, if you have them,) in all directions.
Because, if people knew you do what you are about to did, they would likely think you’re a major loon. And they might tell others, or text it to the world or directly to loon central: VPutin@Rrrrroooooskie.com(munist).
So. Here’s the deal. I make goofy faces at myself in the bathroom mirror. I humbly suggest that we all do it. I mean, I hope we all do it. I hope it’s not just me. That could be grounds for thinking I’m drifting too far from the refreshment stand, or flying without an enchilada.
Raise your hands out there if it’s just me. Ah. I see no hands. Prima facie evidence we’re all either crazy or normal. (Full disclosure: Personally, I’m normal.)
By the way, have you noticed the new trend? Sometimes reporters will pause briefly in their writing and, out of an abundance of caution and a dollop of marmelade, they will admit to readers a potential conflict of interest in the subject at hand.
For example, when writing an investigative piece, say, on the wide-spread corruption in the cracked world of pottery, a reporter might (parenthetically) state (Full disclosure: I’m a little teapot, short and stout.)
Which raises the question “Aside from the mirror in your locked bathroom, or the one on the ceiling in the king-size bouncy castle in your bedroom, when would you ever pull a funny face just for the fun of it?”
Too often, people will answer “How do you keep the mirror from falling off the ceiling and squashing your sensitive parts?” More often, however, they will say “Never.” Which is either a lie or the actual word never, meaning never.
Why? Because normal people don’t spend extended periods of time goofing into their bathroom mirrors. Says who? A voice in your head? A voice in my head? A voice in the head at Oriole Park? It says “Dude, if they find out down at the frown palace that you are 1. goofing and 2. goofing at your foolish, goofy face, your cheese is grated.”
There was a time when a man or a woman could simply surrender to innocent moments of spontaneous silliness and not appear to be abnormal, or at least not seriously ab.
K-Mac has this thing where she sticks out her tongue, then tugs on an earlobe, making her tongue slide to the right or left depending on the earlobe. She then touches her nose and her tongue retracts. (Full disclosure: The tug doesn’t really make the tongue move. The tongue has its own agenda, as does K-Mac.)
Lately, something called Conversion Therapy has taken hold. In an attempt to cure people of extended self-goofing sessions, a bunch of well-meaning friends will converge en masse into the bathroom of the unsuspecting subject (hopefully, the seat will be down) and perform goofus interruptus.
They begin by saying to the cracked teapot “Everyone in this room loves you. Flat out. Unconditionally. To the death, we love you – or the edge of death, whichever comes last. We love every little thing about your so lovably, lovable self…except for one little thing.”
Now, that one little thing can be as small as a nervous tick that you keep in a small jar under your bed. Or some form of massively, mondo inappropriate behavior as defined by the mondo appropriate sensibilities of your loved/liked/barely tolerated ones.
Look, they are so concerned about your peccadillo they have all agreed to give up a farouking Saturday to break into your head. In no uncertain terms they will demand to know where you got your peccadillo and do they charge for shipping. Warning: If you don’t tell, they will slap you silly.
©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2019, all rights reserved.