Why do so many people like to meddle?
I'm not talking about your wife or husband. You granted them the right to meddle once you uttered I do.
I'm not talking about your friends either. Sometimes their meddling is the only thing that saves us from catastrophe. Without them there would be even more conversations that started with one of these phrases. I told you she wasn't eighteen. What ever made you think you could make that jump anyway? And for the ladies. How was I supposed to know he was married and had three kids? Who knew regurgitated Cosmopolitans and Apple Martini's would stain the carpet? Trust me we need our friends around for those times we aren't thinking too clearly.
I'm not even talking about your mother. She earned that right by hours of childbirth or by that C-section scar. You owe her the right to voice her opinion. Sure most of us ignore what she says, but let her talk just the same.
I'm talking about the meddling of society at large, especially by those with fancy degrees hanging on a wall. Doctors, lawyers, chiropractors.
It has been well documented on this blog that my doctor has been meddling. He dared suggest I needed to eat more vegetables, shy away from fired foods and donuts. He even had the meddlin' nerve to hint I might need to lose a few pounds.
I won't even get started on those lawyers and their fancy laws, but I don't see any harm if a fellow wanted to place a little wager on his favorite football team. Even if he didn't happen to be in Las Vegas.
Generally speaking my chiropractor is a nice guy. He likes to hunt, fish, and discuss football while he yanks around on my skeletal frame, but today he climbed up the ladder and dove headfirst into the deep end of the meddlin' pool. He blames my recent bout of bad back-itis on the fact I like to sleep on my stomach. So now I got medical professionals telling me what to eat, what not to eat, how much to exercise and now I have one telling me how to sleep.
When I get rich and famous I'm gonna buy up an entire mountain in the middle of nowhere, grow me a ZZ Top style beard and live off the land. I'll only head down to town to head off on a book signing tour and to cash all those royalty checks because we all know that published authors get to do whatever they want.
And for anybody who believes that, I also had a big bowl of lettuce for supper. (In case your new to the blog I happen to think lettuce and 99% of all other vegetables are the devil.) But go ahead eat that stuff all you wants. That just means more meat for me. I know Alex will probably sign up to join my mountainside writers commune. (hope he's better with a rifle than a fishing pole) How about the rest of you, any takers?
Nope I didn't think so. Guess this means I'll have to head to work tomorrow. Damn the luck.
Of course I don't blame you. After all, I'm a long way from being rich and famous. But we all gotta have dreams. Now if people will just stop meddling with mine.