One of
the things (aside from memory issues) that happens with aging in general and
worsens in menosoup, is the eyesight trembles.
Well, more specifically it blurs and goes all Monet and occasionally
Mondrian. Not fond of either of those
but am also not fond of the dimmed eyesight. However, this lends itself to some
of life's great wee moments. Once, that
would have caused the ground to yaw and the ego to grab at the heart as if to
suck every squidgy little cell from it.
But spiritual life and menosoup combine to provide instead a sense of
the ridiculous and the ability to laugh at oneself.
That can
lead to fits of giggles and cheeks the colour of beetroot and the best bit is
no one else knows the joke. Just you and
the Lord. The worst bit is that very
often there's no joke in it and it's just that you caught yourself out putting
the Bhagavad Gita in the refrigerator.
No. Worse would have been not catching it then going in search of the
missing text when class came round again.
No matter how often you appeal to the Lord, He's enjoying watching the
demise of your personality too much to tell you to open the fridge door.
At dinner
time you discover the wayward volume.
Chilled in just sufficient places on the title for your spectacle-free
eyes to read
"B---a--d -ita". Not something you want to be told just before
munching on a hunk of herby cheese.
Maybe
that was the Lord's plan all along… upping the anti because there is no butter
used here and no oven available (ref. 'Menomonomumal').
So, Dear
Reader, which did I do; catch myself in time or suffer the consequences which
resulted in a case of menocle?
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