WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF

VollyballLady.jpg

I am happy I was in the right line when I was born. I didn’t confuse the proverbial trains vs. brains. My brain is a great source of humor for me and, surprisingly, sometimes for others. If I knew how to do it, I’d extract my brain from within my skull and insist that it do stand-up. Humor-wise, I think it would be quite the success story, maybe even giving Seinfeld a run.  Sure.

I have noticed that nothing enhances the humorous side of my brain more than a few good painkillers…which right now, after a recent knee replacement, occupy space on my medicine shelf. No, don’t ask, I’m not sharing them. These babies don’t do much to help reduce my pain, but they makeup for it by providing a few good laughs.

Case in point: The other night my wife and I were sitting at the kitchen table having dinner. Each of us was busy shoveling meatloaf and potatoes while picking through the non-bill category of the day’s mail. My wife broke the silence…“Hey, I want a volleyball. I really do.” That is the exact quote I recall. In its place, there is nothing out of the ordinary about this statement. Our one granddaughter plays on two volleyball teams and we have attended a good number of games. My wife has come to really like the game of volleyball so blurting out, “Hey, I want a volleyball” isn’t some far-fetched declaration of desire that she launched out of nowhere. True, I don’t see her actually playing volleyball—no way—but if she wants a ball just to bounce around, who am I to interfere? Hence my response; it was the usual, muffled, “uh-huh.” I put this out really low key.  It’s a habit I have to distract her from thinking I am really listening. That way, when the volleyball arrives she is twice as surprised because she thinks I wasn’t paying attention. I’ve used this technique before and it has amazing results. Yes, you may copy it.

Fast forward two-three nights and you will find me at my computer at some wee small hour of the morning. Much of my best energy is expensed at this time of day…or is it night? Shopping is included. I have recalled my dear wife had mentioned something about wanting a volleyball. Nothing is too good for her, nosiree. So I am busy surfing for one. I select a beautiful white Wilson ball just like “Wilson” from the Tom Hanks movie, Cast Away. I think about my dipping my hand in red die and “stamping” the ball with its imprint before I give it to my wife.

A few days go by while I wait for the vollyball to arrive. In that time, for some reason or another, I begin to have doubts about the entire episode. I don’t know why, but I am not sure if our dinner conversation actually took place…or was it something I dreamed while under a drug-induced sleep? OMG, have I lost my mind? Don’t answer that.

The ball arrives. My wife is there at the time. She wants to know what’s in the box. I hand it to her and say, “I got you something. It’s a surprise…definitely a surprise one way or the other.”   She wants clarification. I clarify. “Well, the other night you told me you wanted one so I got you one.” She has the box just about opened by now. I’m sort of cringing, waiting to find out if the entire conversation over meatloaf dinner was real or Memorex.

“A volleyball!” she says. “What for? I never told you I wanted a volleyball?” Ah-ha, it was Memorex. It was a dream—albeit a very real one—but nonetheless a dream. I dreamt an entire scene, complete with our kitchen set, meatloaf and potatoes, a well written script and a very realistic final cut. I’m expecting an Oscar.

These are the kinds of real-life stories that are told over and over at social gatherings. My wife loves to have fun with some of the crazy things I do. She never hesitates to share them. In fact, she has a quiver full of these mocking arrows and in an instant can launch one after another like a Trojan warrior.  The volleyball story will get good play on her circuit. Later, when I run into some of her associates, they will all say something like, “Oh Marc, that story about you and the volleyball was hysterical.”

Okay, it’s mine. I own it. Maybe trains would have been more fun.

*****

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About Marc Kuhn

I am a retired radio exec. I've worked at major stations in Philadelphia, Washington, D.C. and Miami. That was then. This is now: I've published seven books and this blog thingy. Need to know more? Really? Okay, I bare/bear all at http://marckuhn.com The other links are for the websites of each of the books I've written. I've been busy! Hope you'll stop by and check them out. Thanks for your interest!
This entry was posted in communication, Family, health, Uncategorized, WHATEVER!, whimsy and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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