AS THE FLIES CROW

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-24-25)

     Is it my imagination or are bugs this summer buggier than usual? They seem more aggressive, better organized and better equipped. My skills as a catcher of bugs are constantly being tested. They consist of taking a swipe at the air, quickly closing my fist with a smug look on my face, and then slowly opening it, waiting for my wife to ask, "Did you get it?" before saying, "Of course," and pretending to wipe it off my hand and into the garbage.

     I may need to seek professional help from an exterminator: "I found a new type of spider in my garage, perhaps you can identify it." "Can you describe it?" "Yes. It's smallish, but still fits two cars, if you don't mind getting in through the window." "The spider, not the garage." "Oh. Well, it had a beard, it was about yay-big, although the word 'yay' gives the impression that I was happy to see it; it had large eyes, long legs, a roman nose, and was probably a male, because it did not shave its legs, although it could have been a lazy or bohemian female." "Okay, what I'm getting from you is that it looked somewhat like Javier Bardem, assuming that Javier Bardem does not shave his legs." "Yes. That's exactly right. Do you think it's poisonous?" "Why, did you eat it?" 

     Which reminds me- my cat, who is about a athletic as tree fungus, caught a moth the other day. This was surprising enough, but it's possible that the moth simply flew into its paw by mistake and was temporarily knocked unconscious. Then the cat looked at me with distaste, as if I should keep a cleaner house with less bugs in it, and what am I going to do with it. I told the cat, if you catch it, you eat it. In the wild this would be your FOOD. It's not a catch-and-release program. Anyway the spider in the garage was pretty toned, like it maybe had its own personal trainer. I told my wife to hand me my shoes. "Don't you need just one shoe to kill it?" "Yes, but I need both shoes to run away long before that happens." 

     I have other questions the exterminator might help me with, like, "How do I keep no-see-ums away?" "Well, are you sure they were no-see-ums? What did they look like?" "I have no idea, I didn't see-um." "Well did one bite you, or sting you?" "I'm not sure which end it was usin

, and by the time I put on two pairs of glasses, it was just standing there holding a knife and fork."
     I was talking to somebody that had ants in their home, as we do. She said that the worker ant takes the bait from the ant trap to the queen, and that destroys the whole colony. Can you imagine if YOU'RE the poor idiot who brought a lump of poison to the QUEEN? "Look at this, Your Highness, I think it's a piece of a Butterfinger, and I didn't eat any of it, I brought it straight to YOU. I ask for nothing in return, I'm just a poor ant, and I am not worthy. A cost of living increase would be nice." She eats it and drops dead, and all of a sudden everybody's looking at you, either with disdain or respec

, depending on what they thought of the Queen. By the way there's a similar strategy in chess.
     I read somewhere that you can spread coffee grounds around the perimeter of your house, and it messes up the scent of their trail and they can't use it again. It does seem to work, but what if the ants come in all amped up on caffeine, and chatting up a storm, talking about how boring picnics can be, and how great it is to have a thorax, and how grains of sand weigh much more than you'd think especially when wet, and you're just trying to find a graceful way to end the conversation?

     A mosquito bit me on the face the other day. I watch a lot of true crime shows on television, and the very nature of the assault told me that it was personal, not a crime of greed or opportunity, but a crime of passion. Clearly this bug had an obsession with me, or mistakenly thought we were in a relationship. What even caused our breakup? Was it that I hate to fly? Was it that I sometimes read a newspaper, and rolling it up seemed like a passive-aggressive act? Who can remember, I've moved on since then. Maybe we were better off as friends.

     If we should ever run out of domestic bugs, there are always new bugs that someone unwittingly brought in from some faraway land. The spotted lanternfly arrived can decimate important crops by sucking their sap. The emerald ash borer likely arrived in a shipment of wood. Its behavior, while boring, can get right into your ash, and after that you're on your own. These invasive species often taste AWFUL, so there are no known predators to keep them in check. The only way they can be controlled is by turning their destructive behavior into self-destructive behavior. Encourage drinking, dating the wrong kind of boyfriends and gambling. I have another good idea: Introduce invasive bugs from Asia to invasive plants from Asia, and let them figure it out. 

     I guess we should be lucky that the animals that bite us so often are usually the smallest ones. If you went out to do some gardening and you came back inside to complain, "Ugh, the lions out there are AWFUL today," it would be a lot worse.

A FELINE SIDELINE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-19-25)

    My wife has embarked upon a retirement job as a volunteer greeter for the SPCA. It's a great way to meet other animal lovers. But it's an important job, because that is the first face that potential adopters will see. Words of encouragement, some explanation of the processes and the availability of potential companions help to grease the wheels of a successful match. 

     She wants to eventually become a "cat cuddler," which you have to undergo a separate training session for. I've had experience with the subject myself, and sometimes my cat and I have different ideas of what constitutes cuddling, and what we expect to happen immediately afterward. For instance, if you're a cat I might give you a little stroke on the top of the head, and you might close your eyes, signifying that you have other things to do. So I might give you a little tap on the nose, and you give me a little nip on the finger as if to say, "that was my NOSE." But I ignore that, knowing that you're just toying with me, as a mobster toys with an informant. And I give you a little caress under your chin at the same time that I give you a little tug on your ear, and you're not sure which one to believe, so you lay a few outstretched claws on my wrist, as if to say, OH sorry, ha, ha, I didn't know those were loaded, and I say, oh, look at you! You want to play, don't you! And you say Yes, I would love to play- by the way, who is your primary care provider? And this goes on for a while until one of you falls asleep and the other is Googling "what gets out blood stains." If it was me I would begin the training with a lesson on how to cuddle a cat after placing him in a half-nelson, but let's not start off on the wrong foot. At the SPCA they know a thing or two more than I do.

     Yes they do. They have plenty of resources to help ensure that your new friend's adjustment into your family is smooth and drama-free. For instance, I learned on their site that cats have an extensive vocabulary. A "meow" might mean many different things, such as "feed me," "pet me" or "let me out," and they can translate these phrases into several languages. "Meow" is also the word they use for "ubiquitous." Oddly enough, according to the resource material, cats do not meow at other cats.

     At times there may be more exotic friends waiting to meet you at the Rescue Center. Hip-Hop, the rabbit was adopted. They thought he would be easily placed at Easter time, but maybe it's all for the best that he wasn't, with all those chocolate bunnies around. "Psst. HEY: Brown bunny. What the hell happened to your ears?" "What did you say?" There was also a lizard who recently found a loving family to call his own. My wife said someone finally adopted the three-legged cat that was there. Perhaps they had already adopted another leg somewhere else?

     She said that a woman came in who wanted a cat, and said she was a great owner because she "works her pets pretty hard." What do you mean, works them pretty hard? I had a vision of a team of cats, yoked together to till the fields, only they're each pulling toward a bird in a different direction, and only one square inch gets plowed. But it was nothing like that; she apparently has a device that illuminates a different light when the cat steps on it, based on his own needs. It might say, "dinner" or "treat" or "pats" or "play." I figure that when the cat becomes smart enough to rewire a button that says, "I'd just like to be left alone," her job will be done.

     The facility has all kinds of outreach and off-site programs, like Puppy Yoga. If a puppy demonstrates how to do a "downward dog" position, you should listen. The dogs travel to concerts, street fairs and events all around Westchester. 

     There are all kinds of ways you could talk yourself out of a wonderful friendship with someone who really needs you. Maybe you don't have the time. If you took a few hours away from doom-scrolling each day, you'd be surprised how things might open up. Maybe you're not ready for an emotional commitment. Which makes me think you might want to cut some of the Kardashians out of your life. You could "Adopt-A-Highway," of course, but when it jumps up onto your lap, you'll wish you took in a nice tabby instead. 

     Animals didn't ask to be domesticated, and they certainly didn't ask to be abandoned. That's not entirely true, mine have made that wish abundantly clear at times. But the fact remains that there are too many animals searching for a "forever home." How can YOU help? There are many ways, even if you're not ready to adopt. Besides monetary gifts, the SPCA accepts food and medications, treats, toys and carriers. There are a variety of ways to donate your time as well; they're always looking for people to help exercise or socialize the animals. As Lisa from the Center notes, "It doesn't have to be a long-term relationship...." Good, you say, because I just broke up with a guy who slobbered, barked at me, begged for food and sometimes chewed furniture, and I just got new furniture.

     You and your new rescue pet are bound to have many satisfying years together. The SPCA can help you find the perfect match, and make the transition so smooth you may not even know you're being rescued.

FLIGHT OF FANCY

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (06-04-25)

     Some weeks ago newswoman Gayle King and several other people were shot into space. She apparently agreed to the idea completely sober, and was part of an all-female flight on a Blue Origin rocket that reached suborbital space, during which participants experienced weightlessness and saw the Earth as alien creatures might, the same ones that complain about the food and how there's no parking. The craft reached an altitude of 62 miles above the Earth, about the same mileage as a trip to Syosset, only much less easier to get to.

    Blue Origin is owned by Amazon founder Jeff Bezos, and he is the only person I would trust to deliver me back to my house on time within two days, as long as you have  a Prime membership. Also on the flight was NASA scientist Aisha Bowe, who could probably tell you if something is going wrong. "Aisha- did you hear that noise? Do you think could get out there and have a peek under the hood or something?" "Rick, that noise was your heart returning to your chest cavity." "Oh. Well at least my heart is in the right place."

     Gayle did receive some backlash for going on the 11-minute trip, which was estimated to have cost somewhere between $200,000 and $400,000 dollars, and that's for coach. All that money could have been used to send underprivileged people into space instead. Still, others maintain that exploration of space is money well spent. Look at how many important discoveries have been made as a result of space research: CAT scans, LEDs, scratch-resistant lenses, wireless headphones. Memory foam: picture a world in  which you went home and your foam had NO recollection of who you even were. Would we be enjoying freeze-dried food without space exploration? I'm not sure we're enjoying it now.

     Now that it's possible to go, I hear of people saying that apace is beckoning them. "RICK?" "What?" "It's Space, beckoning you. Why don't you come on up here? Look at all the room, no lines for anything. No Kars for Kids commercials. All the LEDs and scratch-resistant lenses you could ever dream of. Of course, you can't go outside. And it is expensive to go, but an anonymous group of donors has offered to pay for your ticket, although they insisted it be one-way." No thanks, not me. I get sick on any amusement park ride that has a sign showing you how tall you have to be to get on, let alone one where you have to list your next of kin. 

    Has Gayle King never watched a science fiction movie? In every single one of them, something goes very, very wrong. Remember HAL, from "2001: A Space Odyssey?" HAL was a computer that took over the spacecraft and locked the mission commander out. "HAL. Can you please let me back in? Don't make me access your memory banks and reduce you to a pile of loosely-coded logarithms." "You? Please. You don't know how to turn off your cell phone." "You can tun it off?" And what about aliens? Trust me, there is not one alien out  there who wants to simply hang out on the couch and watch "Severance" with you. They pretty much all want to kill you, and possibly eat you. There are people who have really bad taste, and ironically they will be left to repopulate the Earth.       

    This is in no way a dig at Gayle King, who seems like a very nice person. But you used to have to go through vigorous training to be an astronaut. You had to be in peak physical condition, meaning if I told you to drop down and give me 20, you wouldn't just say, "I'll give you four and owe you 16." You had to practice collecting samples of moon rocks with a special collection shovel, not just jab at them with a fondue  fork. You had to try out a weightless environment performing operations in a water tank without bitching about how  you look in  a bathing suit. You had to practice existing in terrain that was completely devoid of all useful vegetation, conditions similar to my front lawn. Gayle King didn't even offer to  do a few jumping jacks, as far as I know.

    You used to come careening through the atmosphere, and there was a  point during which you lost communication with the Mission Control Center, and even if you wanted to say, "Houston, we have a problem," they wouldn't be able to hear you, and you'd have to tell them what the problem was later, if the problem wasn't that you burned up during re-entry. Then you'd splash down into the Indian Ocean somewhere, and they'd come looking for you in a boat. They'd scoop you up and put you into quarantine, in case you brought back space-cooties or something. It doesn't seem like Gayle King had to go through any of that stuff. Did she even go through Customs?

    But I've been harping on the minuses. Some have said the flight has changed their perspective. Looking from that distance, you can really see how DEI programs are harming  the Earth. The weightlessness is an amazing experience. Wow! I've been trying to lose 5 pounds for three months, and now I've lost all 189 of them! Plus, you're part of a small fraction of  people who have shared this experience. I would have found something important to say so that history could record the moment, something like, "That's one small  step for man, and yet I STILL almost fell down the damn ladder."

    Ever since you were a little kid, didn't you look up at the sky and ask yourself, what's really up there? Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are? Well, a star, you just said. But who knows? Maybe someday we'll find intelligent life out there in the galaxy. If we look hard enough, maybe someday we'll find it here, too.

PARADISE FOUND

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-22-25)

     When you step out of the airport into a Caribbean country, it looks like the scene when "The Wizard of Oz" turns from black and white to color, hopefully after an easier landing than Dorothy's. The tropical temperatures and lush green palm trees confirm that you're not in Kansas anymore. Aruba is far south in the sea, out of the hurricane belt, and the weather is usually warm and fair. A weather map there features a bunch of yellow suns smiling at each other; never do you see one that's glum. On the other hand, it's windy. What the brochures call a "gentle trade wind" is actually a nonstop 25 mile-an-hour gust that hits you from the moment of your arrival until you're waving goodbye through the airplane window. If you bought a new hat and had your hair done before the trip, you just wasted about $150 bucks. Whatever they traded for the gentle trade wind, I hope it was worth it.

     We visited an all-inclusive resort, where food and alcoholic beverages were paid for in advance. I'm not what you'd call a heavy drinker, but when you come across a wild margarita in its indigenous environment, it's hard to resist. They even put a little umbrella in the drink to keep it out of the sun. The food seemed fresh and well-prepared, and even a non-foodie like me was gastronomically satisfied for 6 nights, 7 days and 8 pounds.

     The climate is officially listed as "semi-arid," but it seemed like whatever wasn't arid was arid, too. You need to be careful at the beach. The wind gives you a deceptive sense of how hot it really is, which is similar to setting up a chair inside a convection oven. We're coming from a New York winter where our only tan was cultivated by the refrigerator light. So we tested out the rays sporadically, after two o'clock or so, to keep from melting into a glutinous mire before the first day was even over.

     You might see a two-foot iguana underneath a lounger at the pool, and you might think gee, is that thing dangerous? I'm not going to have to slay it with a swizzle stick, am I? I believe they're vegetarians, but I'm not sure their eyesight is that great, and asleep, with an uneven tan, I can resemble a huge yam. Just to be safe I make sure to do a couple things that a yam wouldn't be caught dead doing.

     While one of the most satisfying things to do in Aruba is "not a heck of a lot," there are some activities you can plan for your trip. I've been to many places in the world, but I've never been in a submerged submarine before. People who are 6' 2" are often frowned upon in a submarine,  and that's only one of places where I am often frowned upon. But the Atlantis undersea excursion offers a way to see the marine life in their natural habitat: an ocean reef with a submarine in it. After a safety demonstration where you are briefed on how to use an emergency device that resembles a shower cap with a gas mask attached to it, the floor was open for questions. "Just as a precaution," I asked, "should we hold our breath for the two hours, in case something goes wrong? Also, if we happen to get attacked by other submarines, does this thing have torpedoes?" The floor then closed for questions.

     We glided along 140 feet below the surface. I've never been certified for SCUBA diving, although I've been told that I am certifiable. So this was the perfect opportunity to explore the ocean depths in kind of a reverse-fish tank mode. This time the fish were looking in at ME thinking, WOW- that looks like an endangered species! I did see a barracuda, so I was glad to be safely inside. I've heard that they're attracted to your watch, and how is a fish going to know that it's a fake Rolex and not a real one? 

     We embarked on a snorkel tour the next morning, sailing on a catamaran to visit a shipwreck, a sea turtle territory and a coral reef. After a discussion regarding life vests the floor was open for questions. "One quick thing. That shipwreck we're visiting, was that a snorkel tour boat by any chance? Also, how far south do icebergs travel?" Once safely in the water, there is just no substitute for swimming around in someone else's habitat, a guest of nature's hospitality. A cool cocktail is your reward at the bar on the way back to the pier. I ordered the ubiquitous "rum punch," and I thought I heard the bartender mention something about "next of kin."

     The sun was about to set on our beautiful Caribbean holiday. Quite literally, because Aruba hotels are on the west side of the island. A beautiful opportunity for a keepsake photo, a cameo against the deep red sky. However, if you look at camera settings long enough after a couple rum punches, you begin to care less and less about what they do. There was a couple already posed nicely for a photo, so I just snapped one of them. In silhouette, who's going to know the difference.

WRITE OF PASSAGE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (05-08-25)

     This month marks the 10th anniversary of my first column for the Somers Record. Traditionally you might give the gift of tin for a 10th anniversary, but good luck finding anything nice made of tin. It's used in brake pads, cement and fire retardants, all GREAT gift ideas, but instead I'll accept a personal check, with two forms of identification. 

     When I started this column I was thinking that after three months I would run out of coherent things to say. WOW, was I wrong! That only took two weeks. The rest of this time I've been recounting the things that go on in my head, loosely draped around a weak premise thinly disguised as a theme. I have not missed a week.

     But I love being a writer, because I can alter reality with just a few keystrokes. I will admit that my life is pretty routine; some would say boring. The trick is to make those everyday things seem fun. And for that, I use invention, exaggeration, irony, imagined dialogue and the distortion of facts. I use those devices so often that if it was possible to revoke an "artistic license," mine would have been yanked long ago, and I would be sitting in county lockup with a guy staring at me who has a tattoo of Genghis Khan on his tongue.

     I love the prospect of "turning a phrase." And believe me, once I am done with it the phrase has really turned, like that green object in the fruit drawer of my refrigerator that looks like it might be suffering from a very slow form of motion sickness. And when you come up with the perfect way of saying something, so that others can grasp your exact meaning, a connection is made with a complete stranger. If that ever happens I'll let you know.

     I can teach you how to write, right now, in just a few minutes. I don't want to brag, but I've forgotten more about writing than I'll ever know in a lifetime. First, there are some rules of the game- good writing should not be attempted without first mastering some basic standards of grammar. One: Do not dangle a participle in front of anyone who hasn't eaten in a while. Two: Sometimes the perfect tense, isn't. Three: If you end a sentence with a preposition, it should be a prison sentence, such as: "What are you in for?" Four: Do not be repetitive, redundant, reiterative or duplicative. Four (tied): Good punctuation is important; yet no one really knows when to use a semi-colon. Five: Anyone who uses hyperbole should be shot. 

     It's a good idea to write about what you know. After you read my column, you might think, he doesn't know what he's talking about. Well, I KNOW that, and that's how I can write about it.

     Editing is a big part of the process. Once you cut out the wordy passages, run-on sentences, excess verbiage and anything that does not service the basic substance of the topic, well, there's not a whole lot left, is there? I usually try out a couple different ways of saying the same thing, and I might even say them both out loud, unless there's a clinical psychiatrist specializing in schizophrenia present in the room.

     A quote attributed to George Eliot goes, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” Isn't that great? Sometimes I'm what I might have been at 2:00 in the morning, so she was right about that. If you think of a great phrase, for god's sake write it down. I came up with "To be, or not to be." Yup, that was ME, and it was in response to a multiple choice quiz. It was more like, 2B, or not 2B, that was the question. But I did say it out loud. A powerful quote like that is a great opening line for a novel or essay. I'll help you make one up right now. First, choose a weighty subject, like "time," or "love," or "wisdom." Then, choose a qualifier, which can be any noun, even something insignificant like "plumbing fixtures," or "doorknob," or "AAA batteries." Last, choose a group of people whom others would be impressed that you've even heard of. Then you put them all together, and you have something like, "Power is the full-body deodorant of the underqualified." Let people make of that what they will, and I'm sure they'll do better than I did.

     You're going to have to share yourself with others. Your darkest, innermost secrets are going to be exposed, like walking around your house in your underwear with the curtains wide open, only this time, it's not on purpose. Some writers keep a journal, or a diary. It gets you into the habit of writing every day. "Dear Diary: Today I did a couple embarrassing things that I won't go into here... I just hope you don't hear them from somebody else."

     It's usually true that good writers read a lot. I stay up late at night with a good book, so late that I have to read every page two or three times. I pay attention to the different styles, different subjects and different artifices that make each writer easy to read, or compelling, or informative. I think to myself, how can I plagiarize that just short of anyone noticing?

     That should be enough to get you started in the rewarding hobby of writing. So, if you're reading this column for the first time, it's probably by mistake, and I'll be sorry to see you go. For those who have visited before, it's nice to have you back. Drop me a note to say hello if you enjoy our time together.

IT'S WHAT YOU DID

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-24-25)

     The calendar says it's spring, so I guess it must be, even though spring came in like a lion and seems to have eaten the lamb it was supposed to go out like. Anyway, I should be out building a fort right now. That's what we did when I was your age. We would find a suitable place in the woods, and construct a simple shelter strong enough to withstand a category 5 school year. 

     As in any real estate venture, location is everything. It needs to be far enough away from the house so that you can pretend not to hear your parents calling, but close enough so that if an actual wild animal appears to have legitimate claim to the property, i.e. is bigger than you, you can get the hell out of there.

     If your parents built you a tree fort, they probably did so thinking that whatever it is you're doing in that fort, at least you're doing it close to home. Which is stupid reasoning because 88 percent of accidents occur within five minutes of your home. And I would guess that a good 50 percent of those occur in a tree, or on the ground near one. It also probably makes your parents complicit in aiding and abetting the delinquency of a minor, and the minor's goofy next door neighbor.

     My wife says she was walking the dog in the woods and came upon a fort constructed with a car door as one of the walls. That's an example of either a really ambitious fort, or really bad driving.

     I guess it really is spring because you can hear the frogs croaking in the ponds. They do this to attract a mate, because have you seen a frog? Looks alone are not going to do it. Surprisingly it works, although I recently made a similar noise at the dinner table and "attraction" was not the vibe I got. The sound also gave us kids an indication as to their whereabouts, which was in a pond near our house. We would find tadpoles and put them in a jar with water in it. That's what you did back then. Why did we do this? Partly to gain an understanding of biological development, and partly because the adoption process is much easier than with human children, plus it's hard to find a jar that big.

     We also used to hunt for salamanders, and if we found one, we would put it in a shoebox with some grass, and poke holes in the top with a pencil. It took us a few stabs at the proess to figure out that we should have put the salamander in AFTER poking the holes. Also we should have taken the shoes out first. Salamanders aren't particularly attractive either, and if you do come home with one, your Mom is likely to give it that "what rock did YOU crawl out from under" look. 

     Amphibians in general were constantly being harassed by us, and if I was an amphibian I would have put out a restraining order. When I hear that amphibious vehicles were employed in World War II I scoff, because we would have had all of them in a shoebox within the week.

     Did you play "cops and robbers" when you were a kid? Well, the game has changed. Kids are so sophisticated now, I can't even imagine myself as a pre-teen "robber" anymore. Am I simply going to sit in my room and engage in internet scams? Outside the house I'm careful not to leave any DNA evidence, and I don't use any saliva on anything I eat or drink. 

     Me and my friend used to climb trees. There was a huge evergreen tree in back of his house, and we could get about three quarters of the way up in before the air got thin and the branches even thinner. Why did we want to climb the tree? Did anyone ask Sir Edmund Hillary why he wanted to climb Mount Everest? Did anyone ask John Glenn why he wanted to orbit the Earth? Did anyone ask Amelia Earhart why she wanted to disappear while flying a plane? Well, people did ask those questions, but nobody asked us. I guess the answer was that it was our only chance to look down on people. I notice that when there is a housecat in a tree, people scramble to call the fire department to rescue it, even though a cat is perfectly capable of getting down by itself, then vomiting on your newspaper. When people saw US in the tree, the similar reaction was, "there are two boys stuck atop a tree! We MUST rescue the tree!" There was talk of shooting us out of it. I'm not certain the fire department would have been called if we were stuck in the tree AND on fire. But that's just what you did back then.

     Did you do any of these things? Why, of course you did. We didn't have any of these new-fangled things you kids have today, like social media, cell phones and angst. All we had were things you could fangle out of some string, construction paper, really blunt scissors, a deflated kickball and a chemistry set that we could use to blow all of the above up. Why, when I was YOUR age, we used to do things like stick the word "why" in front of a sentence. Why? Why, I'm not sure why. But that's just what you did back then.

BUYER BE WHERE?

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-13-25)

     What girl doesn't imagine herself walking down the aisle with the man of her dreams? Might I suggest aisle 2? That's the one with all the candy. I had to do the grocery shopping a couple weeks ago, and I learned that I lack the basic necessary skills for the job. There are just so many choices. I need toothpaste, but which one? Do I have sensitivity issues? My teeth did cry during "Love Actually." Do I need gum defense? I don't chew that much gum but maybe it's attacking from somewhere else. Do I have gingivitis? If I do it's probably in my knee along with all the other infirmities. Do I need a advanced whitening or should I just wait until it arrives by itself? Stronger enamel? Fresher breath? Fluoride? In the end I chose on toothpaste that promotes an off-white ecru color, and world peace.

     We needed eggs, but there are cage-free eggs, additive-free eggs, meat-free-fed eggs. The more times "free" is on the label, the more expensive they are. Eggs already cost a lot right now. Last Christmas, when there were three French hens, and six geese a-laying, we should have stockpiled more eggs, because on the thirteenth day of Christmas you never heard from them again. If this shortage goes all the way until Easter and people are hiding eggs, they're not going to tell anyone where they are.

     I didn't know which way to turn. It seemed like forces were pulling me in opposite directions, but I realized that the shopping cart had two wheels pointing north-northeast and two wheels pointing south-southnorth. Plus, the kid in my rumble seat kept grabbing boxes of cereal from the lower shelves, and it was then that I remembered I don't have children. I had either taken someone else's cart by accident or, judging by this kid's behavior, someone else took mine on purpose.

     My parents had six children, and my childhood consisted of my Mom getting several boxes of cereal, sticking us in a room with a television, and waiting until we grew up. Back then the boxes had Sugar Pops or Sugar Smacks in them. They've since changed all the names to present the illusion that these products are good for you. They're now called Corn Pops and Honey Smacks, and they brag about how many vitamins and minerals are in them. I sprinkle a little wheat germ on my cereal, then hit it with some disinfectant because I don't know what wheat germ actually is.

     They had an extensive craft beer section at the supermarket. I picture a group of women sitting around in someone's living room making beer with stuff they bought at Michael's, and then selling it on Etsy.
     I needed peanut butter, milk, and something on my list that looked like it said "bee straightener." My wife is the only one who can read my handwriting. I'm not sure what it actually said, but if the list ever falls into enemy hands they won't be able to decipher it. I went to a couple different aisles that I thought might carry bee straightener, but I abandoned the search pretty quickly.

     My Mom used to shop with a bunch of coupons that she clipped out of who knows where, and by the time she got to the checkout line, they owed HER money. I'm trying to be a smart shopper, so I read the labels to compare how much product I'm getting for the money. A bag of M & Ms is $2.99 for a 2.83 ounces. In milligrams that would be upwards of 50,000, and in euros it would cost $2.70. What's the serving size? It used to be one M & M, but now it's just one M. One candy bar had a larger "fun size" than the others, leading me to believe that the other candies might be more fun for the money. Smoke started to come out of my head, so I went to the frozen foods aisle to cool off.

    Wow- produce is bigger than I remember it. I saw a lady shopping in the fruit section and I said, "Hey, that's quite a pear you've got there, Miss." And she looked at me like I was nuts and started walking away quickly, and I had to call after her, "Where did you get those huge melons?" But she was already gone, and for some reason everyone was staring at me. I said, "Okay, well I guess 'aisle' be seeing you, then," which would have worked better in print.

     My cart was now full of toothpaste and candy, and a guy asked me if I wanted to self-checkout, but I didn't want to appear vain so I went to the register. The girl asked me if I wanted a bag, because now you either have to buy one or bring your own. Luckily, one of the things in my cart was baggies, so I opened up the box, took one out and then put the box into it. Then she asked me if I'd like to earn rewards, and I told her not if I had to turn myself in. It was a frustrating experience, and I could only describe it with words better not expressed in the express lane.