Chapter 22
There’s a strange illness realize that by the time the going around!
It effects man and beast, woman and child and is a respecter of nothing.
The doctors can’t find a cure—aren’t even searching for one so I’m told—and tend to view the whole affair with a smile even though this THING is approaching epidemic proportions! !
Our dog, Bit, has come down with it. He sits on the back of the couch, stares out the window and gets all frisky when he sees another mutt. Our straight A daughter was stricken with it last week. She brought home several papers with C’s and D’s on them.
Let me tell you, I found out Gow it effects women and it just plumb terrifies me!! Aside from teenage girls who get wedding rings on the mind and hear strange bells ringing, women appear to be the most susceptible to this violent disease.
They’re supposed to dive into closets and tear into drawers with the gusto of a hungry hound dog.
SOMETIMES they even sweep cobwebs off the ceiling - destroying those poor little spiders’ homes.
Baseboards get dusted, stirring up enough dirt and dust to give a NORMAL person allergies!
And the worst symptom is then they start cleaning the u kitchen cabinets! !
If that ain’t enough to give a good woman a case of scared-itis, nothing is! And to top it all off most husbands actually get all excited when their wives “come down” with this trouble.
They walk around smiling—don’t have the good sense to realize that by the time the wive is cured, SHE’S exhausted and HE can’t find a blessed thing!!
What do you mean, you can’t find your golf balls?
They’re in the closet with your clubs… Oh, you were looking in your sock drawer…
Where’s your checkbook… Nope, not on the bathroom shelf with the towels…
How about the bowls for your breakfast cereal?
All clean and in the cabinet!! Surprise, surprise! !
I have been very fortunate in escaping the sickness these past few years. ’Course I’m careful to steer clear of those women who have it. I’m not sure it’s contagious, but I’m not taking ANY chances.
I sure don’t want nothing to do with SPRING FEVER—with my streak of infamously bad luck, the wrong kind would attack ME!
! Instead of tackling the closets armed with a scoop shovel and lighting into the cabinets with a soapy dish cloth, I’d contact that OTHER spring fever.
And I would sit on the back of the couch and whine.