I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, only this time while sober. I want to be Dave Barry—without the man parts. As a new writer, I kept hearing over and over in my head the mantra “write what you know.” Actually, it was Chief repeating it over and over in my ear because he was tired of the sight of me in front of my computer wearing only a bathrobe and a blank stare. I looked around at the fodder my family provided. Bingo! I’d write about them.
I posted my first piece and everyone praised my humor skills. It was a serious piece, and since I didn’t purvey that tone, I decided it might be better if I hone in on the funny.
So I went to the library and came across Miami Herald’s humor columnist Dave Barry’s books. I checked a few out and curled up in bed that night to read. The man is exceptionally gifted, or really warped, or has access to some really good hallucinogenic drugs, and I couldn’t stop laughing. Suddenly, I recalled I’d read his colonoscopy essay and I knew this man would now, and forever be, my humor idol because anyone that can turn that experience into a laugh is worthy of worship.
Basically I’m saying I blame Dave Barry for my humor writing career.
Last week, on the eve of my second colonoscopy, I treated myself to another read of Dave’s colonoscopy essay right before I downed my own MoviPrep concoction—a nuclear laxative as Dave describes—mixed with margarita flavored Crystal Light.
Sipping margaritas on the patio of El Patron will never be the same since I ruined the happening by associating an intoxicating experience with the toxic tribulation trial of MoviPrep. I swear I passed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I ate in third grade and next Thursday’s dinner menu which hasn’t yet been consumed.
Two hours later, as I sat leaning forward as far as possible on the porcelain portal, I realized Dave’s experience wasn’t exactly the same as mine. Dave has a handy-dandy picnic gadget—I assume but I haven’t fact-checked the information—to use for other elimination functions not involving MoviPrep.
For a female going Number #1, when your delicate nether region has been awakened like a snoozing volcano, is like pouring gasoline on top of lighter fluid on top of a raging forest fire.
According to Chief, the sounds that came from the bathroom sounded like a wild animal trapped in a raging forest fire while someone poured gasoline on top of lighter fluid on top of the fire.
Maybe I’ll rethink those man parts after all.
So here’s Mama Bread Baker’s public service announcement for 2013. If you’re over 50 (which I’m not in number but apparently I am in “colon-age”) get your screening. It can save your life.
© 2013 CThacker