MEMORIES

This is the time of year when I thank the people, places, and situations that make this column possible. As I have often explained, the key to writing a humor column is to take an actual event and blow it a little out of proportion. So, let’s look back at some of my favorite pieces in the past year.

Because I kept falling out of bed, I bought a Hiccapop, a 6-foot-long pillow shaped like a giant sausage that you stick under the bottom sheet on the side of the bed. When Nettie, our housekeeper, failed to vacuum in our bedroom, I asked her why.

“Dick, someone was sleeping in your bed.”

“That’s my Hiccapop.”

“I don’t care who it is. I didn’t want to wake him.”

My proofreader quit last year—just as well. I was going to dump her anyway. She kept correcting me. Who needs that? Mary Ellen took over the job. That was an easy transition for her; she has been correcting me for 45 years. She is now my wife and my corrections officer.

My watch’s alert system detected a possible injury when I fell out of bed. This was before I got the Hiccapop). It alerted several people on my medical emergency list, including my brother, who drives a cab in New York. I got this text minutes later. “Dick, if it’s a real emergency, I can be there in 14 hours, but that’s going to run you about 1500 bucks, and I refuse to come back light (This is cab talk for a driver having no passenger on the return trip).

One day my wife graciously came home early from shopping so I could use her car while mine was in the repair shop. She got out of her Prius. Then I got in and sped off. But she still had her key fob in her purse. Twenty miles later, I exited my car and realized I couldn’t turn off the engine because I couldn’t turn it back on.  And I certainly didn’t want to leave the car running during my meeting. I also couldn’t ask Mary Ellen to come get me because she had no car. I had her car.  Are you laughing? I wasn’t.

In an article in a survival magazine, the writer advocates a particular brand of survival food, saying it is “as good as or better than any survival food I’ve eaten.” This is the kind of testimony that is hard to discount, not unlike the words of Charles Manson who once grudgingly admitted that San Quentin had the best Salisbury steak of any prison he’d ever been to. You can’t buy PR like that. 

Thanks to Kevin, who brought joy to our neighborhood last year. Kevin is a peacock who sauntered from yard to yard in Fishers, displaying his plumage by admiring himself in everyone’s patio doors. Apparently, Kevin had already visited many neighborhoods in our area, but his origin is still unknown. He even has a Facebook page. It has 10 times more followers than I do. I wish I could be as proud as he is.

Thanks to Amy who accidentally took home my cell phone at the end of a church charity auction one night when we sat at the same table. I called her later that night on Mary Ellen’s phone and told her if she got any calls for me to answer them and explain what happened.  “Don’t worry, Dick,” she said. “I’ll just say that I have your cell because we had spent the night together.” I asked her to rephrase that. Well, that’s a wrap.  Have a great 2025.,