WRITING ABOUT LIFE: ABANDON ALL MODESTY YE WHO COME HERE (Humorosity #30)By Honeydew Zubari

WRITING ABOUT LIFE: ABANDON ALL MODESTY YE WHO COME HERE

(Humorosity #30)

By Honeydew Zubari

For those of you that haven’t been paying attention, in general I’m a private person. It’s difficult to spill my guts every month, but in the interest of filling my allotted space in the e-zine I grab my bootstraps and do my darndest.

Last month I had a forced stay in the hospital. As it elongated I noticed a direct correlation to the shortening of my modesty. It started with the cruel stripping off of my clothes, even the underwear and socks, for cripe’s sakes. They gave me those so-called gowns to wear but didn’t let me tie them because of the multiple and numerous tubes and wires they had strategically stuck all over my body. After a while I tired of clutching the gown closed and let it wander where it wanted, and darn the consequences. Occasionally I’d wake from a nap to find the gown on the floor. This was only a problem when a group of doctors and interns gathered around the bed were the cause for the abrupt awakening. I must say my latent acting ability came in handy, as I pretended to be a talking cucumber. It took surprisingly little time to get used to being in some stage of nekkidness, which made me wonder about myself rather a lot.

The next cruel blow snuck up on me after a couple of weeks, when my legs began to regain their natural hairiness. So very attractive. But I was deathly sick and didn’t care worth a monkey’s uncle what I looked like. So to add to the major flashing of my rear to anyone coming into the room I added the attraction of gorilla legs. Is it any wonder I’m not married to a doctor?

There I lay, sprawled on the hospital bed with the gown bunched in a wad and my hairy legs looking rather frightening.

Oh, did I mention the nausea that made me throw up every time I moved? The nurses gave me a basin to clutch, and I used it as a pillow. That caused an interesting indent on my face, one I cleverly turned into a conversation piece. “What, this? Oh it’s nothing, a scar from the time I wrestled a twenty-foot anaconda. You gotta watch those tails! Heh heh.”

My point? Now that I’m home and all that is in the past I can use the lessons learned to formulate my New Year’s resolutions. Here’s what I like to call…

Honeydew’s 2006 Resolutions:

1. The size/shape/lumpiness of my butt doesn’t matter. Therefore I’m not killing myself to get it into Cosmo shape this year. Good-bye pelvic thrusts and isometric crunches.

2. If I feel sick I’m not trying to tidy up for unwanted callers. UPS man interrupting a vomiting episode? That’s his bad luck. Sister paying a weekly seek-and-complain visit? My retching will drown out her voice. See, an up-side to every situation!

3. If legs weren’t meant to be hairy, none would grow there. Why fight Mother Nature? Everything has its own special kind of beauty. Even gorilla legs on a female.

Life is so much easier when looked at through “Who cares?”-tinted lenses. I’m not saying every aspect of my life should be viewed in such a manner, that would be irresponsible. Certain things, like paying the dentist for the tooth whitening, the blackmailer, the cable bill are all high-priority. But things like shaving legs (at least in winter) are low on the totem pole of life. In a hundred years will my ancestors remember I even had legs? Doubtful. Will it be written anywhere that I was lax in the showering department or had furry teeth? Wouldn’t bet on it. If it’s not going to matter to my great-great grandchildren, why should it matter now? Kind of makes you go “hmmm” doesn’t it?