My kids had a swim meet over the weekend.  This equates to eight hours per day of excruciating boredom punctuated by short periods of sheer terror.  It’s a grin.  They say the idle mind is the devil’s workshop and he was indeed a busy fellow.

The presidential election consumed my thoughts at the meet, mainly because it has me completely baffled.  Normally I know which candidate I’ll vote for at this point but not this year.  In fact, I may actually write in a candidate.  Some tell me it’s a waste but I need to know that at least I cast a vote.  I feel it’s a duty that we have, really a debt owed to those who came before us.  It also insures my four year right to shake my head, laugh or flat out bitch if necessary.  I won’t mention candidate names specifically because I don’t want to alienate either of my readers but, ultimately, my feelings come down to the issue of trust.  I just don’t feel it toward any of the candidates.  Who does a middle of the road type guy without a party affiliation vote for?  What would help me gain some trust in one of these folks?

Well, I’m thinking of a new twist for a debate.  Let’s take the top five candidates.  The two democrats and the top three republicans get to be on our show.  We’ll need some space here, so back up.  I want five gurneys on the stage.  Relax, no one’s getting hurt.  Yes, egos will be bruised, candidacies trashed and, if deserved, some career’s might go up in flames but there will be no physical harm done.  Each candidate will be hooked up to an IV while the make-up people and hair stylists work their magic.  Quickly people, once the sodium pentathol kicks in, it’s gonna get weird.  (Sodium pentathol being one of several barbiturates falling into the “truth serum” category.)  We don’t want any arguing or excuses regarding a moderator’s political leanings so questions will be posed by five spelling bee winners from nearby elementary schools.  Also, tone of voice has been known to influence the answers of subjects on sodium pentathol so we want an agreeable tone and cadence.  We’re keeping a nice even playing field here, no stacking the deck.  The questions are video recorded and will be played in a pre-determined order.  Each child’s question will be answered by each candidate.  Can you imagine a better springboard for a budding newscaster?

The debate will be broadcast on all the usual channels, with one exception:  pay per view will carry a split screen, allowing the viewer to see not just the candidate but also his or her campaign manager’s face as each question is answered.  A bargain at any price.  Proceeds will be used to reduce the national debt.

My gut feel is they won’t go for it.  Nonetheless, that’s my contribution to the election of 2016.  Almost certainly, my vote will be cast for Charles Nelson Reilly McGaughey (he prefers Chuck).  What you really need to know is that he’s kind, always has a smile on his face and is wise beyond his 63 years (dog years, but we’ll sort that out before the inauguration).

It’s seldom fun being awakened at 2 am.  This time it was a code red yelp from our dog needing to go out.  It’s not as if we didn’t ask him to go before bed but he “didn’t have to go then, Dad”.  It was a play at the plate, but I shook off the cobwebs and got the door open in time.

Chuck ran out and immediately began barking.  This was his no-kidding-around-I’m-legitimately-pissed bark.  Likely another deer that ventured into the backyard.  Following more barking and sniffing and the business initially intended to conduct, he returned to the house, proud at having dispatched the intruder.  He was blinking his eyes quite a bit though and – Mother Hubbard!  What is that smell?

Skunks are funny creatures.  They seem fat and lazy, never in a hurry.  I guess you don’t have to be one of nature’s go-getters when armed with the wild’s equivalent of a WMD.  Mountain lions eye a skunk in wide open space and the salivary glands go into immediate shutdown.  “You know, Bob, that was an awfully fat groundhog we ate just a couple hours ago…”

The net has many recipes for dogs covered in skunk perfume.  One concoction in particular got raving reviews.  The best news was that we already had almost all the ingredients:  hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dishwashing detergent.  It just couldn’t be applied to Chuck’s head because the hydrogen peroxide and baking soda combined could damage his eyes.  Sadly, the skunk had scored a direct hit to the big guy’s face so we’d definitely need this key fourth ingredient.  One we didn’t have in the house.

Safeway, Moraga, CA 2:21 am (doesn’t matter what day, just pick one).  One check stand is open, sans checker.  Your faithful correspondent has on a sweatshirt, jeans, shoes likely on the wrong feet and hair like he’d just backed through a hedge.  At long last the clerk is located.  Female, just perfect.  Insult to injury.  It all just came pouring out of me.

“Let me start by saying I’m not a weirdo.  My dog was sprayed by a skunk and we have this recipe for a shampoo but we don’t have everything, well we have most of it but not this one thing we need for his head so we don’t burn his eyes and make him blind, oh-my-god I can’t believe this but – um- oh jeez, what the hell, where’s the feminine hygiene stuff?”

Silencio.

Then laughter.

Now lots of laughter.  Then two people are laughing.  Turns out that her dog had just been sprayed so we were able to compare notes on delousing techniques.  Now when it’s crowded and I check out she likes to ask (with a wink), “Did you find everything ok?”

Gentlemen, if you find yourself in need of Summer’s Eve, the middle of the night is the best time to make the acquisition.  The employees are just glad to have anyone to talk to and there’s little chance of running into your high school football coach.  Anyone else make any embarrassing purchases?

My wife needed a couple things at the mall and asked if I’d go with her for a little company on the trip.  On the way she explained she needed two things from the shoe department of one of the big stores.  We walked in and headed straight to women’s shoes.  After two minutes I peeled off, knowing I was no longer helpful and figured I might find something more interesting going on.  There wasn’t.  I wandered through a couple men’s departments but I’m not a shopping kind of guy.

I wound up standing at the edge of a department, reading on my phone.  Peripherally, I noticed a guy standing a few feet to my left, obviously a clerk or possibly a fellow shopping trip refugee.  When the text came in with news of my parole, I found myself turned around with no idea which way to go.  I started asking as I turned to my left, “Do you know which way to women’s shoes?”  The words came out faster than my head turned or I might not have posed this question to a mannequin.

A passing customer lifted his eyebrows, remarking, “I don’t think he works here” and walked on.  Well played, amigo.  I can’t speak for other males, but that, my friends, is why this particular man no longer asks for directions.