I had a “lady friend” accuse me of being too serious. I didn’t do enough to get titillated by her overtly sexual conversations or I failed to laugh when others did. It could have been that I had short responses or that I used a straight face to discuss something. Apparently I didn’t laugh enough, because she grabbed my mouth and poured booze down my gullet afterward.
I wanted to dispel any notion that I am a joyless, dark cretin. I enjoy my fun in small doses. I enjoy it when I have it and I don’t look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
As of lately, I found myself taking a timeout for calculated idiocy. It just happens to happen every winter, which I never had when I lived in Florida. Winter, not the idiocy. I find time for idiocy.
It started when I was a kid traveling north to the land of Bluegrass. During the winter, we occasionally would have snow or wintery weather when going there. The northern part of our state, Tennessee, and Kentucky all had mountainous/hilly areas. (Note that these are the Appalachian foot hills). It would get cold enough to snow and freeze.
The frozen precipitation made it hard to drive but interesting to look at. We occasionally would see it snow or even see one of those clouds spit out sleet. But my favorite thing had to be icicles hanging off of cliff sides or rock ledges. I dreamed off grabbing them and breaking them off, then throwing them at a family member. My father would often say that only an idiot would stay outside in the cold and play.
Years later, I would find myself driving south to my old town to pick up a table. It was after it snowed three to six inches in a major town south of us. I drove past vehicles that slid off the road. No one else was on the road. I was somewhat relieved to pass by some teenagers out throwing snow balls and sledding on the interstate highway, which was illegal. I heard my father, in my head, echo his old sentiments.
A decade later; I would see snow on our mountain. I would pass by icicles and I wish they would disappear, considering I had hit icy patches then spun off the side of the mountain before. I found myself wanting to smash those stupid icicyles. I would find a great time and a great opportunity to do so.
I was in a shittier mood than usual. I had gotten over “the coof” and dealing with workplace paperwork. It had snowed again and it froze. I had largely forgotten about it until I was driving back home on the northern side of the mountain. I found a patch of sizeable icicles hanging down from an easily accessible rock face. I put my emergency blinkers on and got out of my car. I punched those bastards with a tenacity not seen since an armored bank trunk hit a bus full of hookers. I left after demolishing a three foot long dangler and turning my hand more sore than a one armed bandit in an adult bookstore.
I went home happy, knowing that I took a time out for idiocy. Considering I have been accused of being too serious…