Here’s more senior humor from one of the Charleston Mercury columnists, Patra Taylor.
Let Sleeping Bigfoot Lovers (and dogs) Lie
“Huh?” I opened one eye just enough to see my husband’s silhouette in the doorway, the harsh light from the hallway making that eye hurt.
“Are you asleep already?”
“What was your first clue, genius?” I didn’t actually say that out loud because I was incapable of speech at the moment. But the fact is, my husband is one of those genius types…a real egghead leaning hard into eccentricity. Like most geniuses, my beloved husband is just one silk-lined smoking jacket away from full-blown weirdness.
“Why did you go to bed so early, honey?” he asked me sweetly. “It’s only 9:30. You’re not ill, are you?”
I pulled myself up in the bed just enough to make my speech recognizably human and looked at him square on. “I’m fine,” I said. “There wasn’t anything on TV, so I decided to go to bed.”
“OK,” he replied as he stepped back into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.
I felt the dog shift slightly at my feet as I snuggled back into my still-warm spot. Stupid dog…she’s not allowed in our bed…but still hoping to easily return to my peaceful sleep, I decided to ignore her, hoping she didn’t bite me the next time I rolled over. Tinker is a Jack Russell terrier with a foot fetish…not the good kind.
“Just one more question.” Oh damn, he’s back. “When you said there wasn’t any shows on television, did you mean there weren’t any shows about Bigfoot?”
No Bigfoot Shows
“Yes, that’s what I meant,” I said as I pulled myself up slightly from my cozy nest. “No Bigfoot shows.”
“I thought you had several of those recorded,” he continued as he plopped down on the bed next to me.
“I’ve seen them all…several times,” I explained.
“Oh.” After a suitable pause, he continued, “I’m watching this series on Netflix about dictators, and tonight it’s an exposé on Nicolae Ceaușescu. You know, he was the dictator of Romania from 1965 to 1989.”
Sadly, I knew. I didn’t want to know, but I knew nevertheless. I knew only because I live with a know-it-all brainbox who believes it’s his solemn responsibility to educate those of us who are “less fortunate” in the IQ department. For the record, the man I love couldn’t balance our checkbook if his life depended on it. Or change the oil in his car.
He continued telling me all about Chow, even after I rolled over and pretended to snore lightly. As I lay there listening to his lovely voice prattling on (and on) it occurred to me just how different I was from my beloved husband. He loves international murderous despot; I loved elusive hairy hominids. He thrives in the intellectual clouds; I trade in earthly realities…Bigfoot among them.
I wonder how it’s going to go over when he finds out our summer vacation plans include stopovers at a couple of Bigfoot hotspots. I’m guessing here, but I’m betting that news will go over, as my mother used to say, “like a turd in a punch bowl.”
Copyright © 2019 by Patra Taylor Bucher. All rights reserved.
A Bigfoot walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender says, “That’ll be $10. By the way, we don’t get many Bigfoots in here.” The Bigfoot replies, “At $10 a beer, that’s not hard to understand.”
Can’t get enough of Patra Taylor’s senior humor. Check out these other stories from her popular Gray Matters columns that appeared in the Charleston Mercury.