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| Realistically? by Jerry Whorebach 04/23/2019, 10:57pm PDT | ||||
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Mischief Maker wrote: I'm afraid they're going to quietly tolerate my presence. Then they're going to go home, pack up their van, and leave civilization behind. Their kid is going to have to grow up alone in the wilderness, hearing stories about that suffocating prick Jerry Whorebach (and CBC Radio when reception permits), all because I couldn't keep my goddamn chitchat to myself. I have no idea how many times this has happened already because I rarely meet anyone more than once. I've never had to live with people, but I did learn from an early age how to live with wild animals. The nicest thing you can do for an animal is leave it alone. It doesn't matter how friendly they seem, they're not your pets, and they're not your friends. They got along just fine before you showed up, and they'll get along just fine after you're gone - provided you don't do anything stupid, or frighten them into doing something stupid. Show them respect when you're in their territory and try not to mess up their habitat any more than you have to. The weather's been nice lately, so the footpaths I had to myself all winter are now choked with the occasional person. The other day I saw the most attractive woman walking towards me. Of course I panicked. I made sure to keep my eyes off her and quickened my pace. I was so focused on not being a nuisance that when she turned and tried to talk to me, I completely snubbed her. Immediately my brain started screaming at me, "What are you doing?! Where are you going?!" But it was too late. Like the mighty stegosaurus, my legs had a mind of their own. I felt like such a jerk. I saw my mom last weekend. She's on the verge of a breakdown because the boaters are out, and they're getting too close to her island. She can hear them talking over the open water and she feels like she's constantly under siege. Her 120-pound guard dog is running around, whimpering, freaking out because he can sense something's terribly wrong but he has no idea what it is. She was angry with him, complaining he doesn't listen, saying she'd never had such a disobedient dog. Trying to smooth things over between them, I reminded her of a malamute she used to have who never listened to either of us. "That's right," she recalled, "he only obeyed men." Then, remembering how sensitive I get about these things, she softened. "You know what I mean. Big manly men. People he could tell were men." That's when I started reading self-help books again. And that's where I found the handsomest guy in group therapy. |
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