Fa-la-la-la-la friends and family! It’s time for mistletoe and holly!
Boy oh boy, what a year! We planted some begonias, bought a used Winnebago and Herb finally had his painful hemorrhoid removed.
[NOTE to Dr. Finklestein: The chairs in your waiting room are so uncomfortable. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to cultivate new hemorrhoids with your torturous seating options.]
But the really big news is that Herb and I joined bowling leagues at O’Malley’s Alley! Herb’s team is the Pocket Pounders and my ladies’ league is the Ball Busters. What fun! Such a nice bowling alley too, with live music and the most delicious chicken fingers.
Well. One night the band started playing “Proud To Be An American” and I was transfixed! The singer had such a lovely voice and was wearing patriotic red, white, and blue leather pants. My goodness they were tight! I never saw pants so tight. I mean, I just don’t know how he managed to stuff himself into those tight pants. They were like a second skin, hugging his sweaty, bulging, muscle-bound body.
I was so moved, so overcome by patriotism and love for this great land, from sea to shining sea and purple mountain majesties, at first I didn’t notice the disturbance rippling through the lanes. As I reveled in my American dream, the crowd had turned angry. Suddenly I heard someone yell, “Herb! How dare you Take A Knee in here! I thought you were a patriot! The bowling alley is no place for protest!”
So I looked over to see my Herb on one knee, getting pelted with corn dogs, onion rings and delicious chicken fingers.
Then a bunch of high school kids came over and all got on one knee around him. “Solidarity!” they shouted, fists in the air. “We kneel with Herb!” Voices raised and fried food flying, it was bedlam at O’Malley’s bowling alley.
I just didn’t know what to do. I was so torn! That singer in his incredibly tight, patriotic leather pants had stirred such fervor in me. But I wanted to show support for my Herb. So I stood with one knee bent, like a flamingo.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. Herb wasn’t an activist at all. Just as he’d released his bowling ball, his back had gone out and he fell on one knee. He couldn’t move. So the high school kids carried him to our car and I whisked him off to the hospital. I’m afraid Herb’s bowling days are over for a while. Instead, we’re taking a long trip in our Winnebago to see more of our beautiful country: the mountains, the prairies, the oceans white with foam, and the outlet malls in Des Moines.
With liberty and justice for all,
Donna and Herb
