When I turned fifty, I went to my doctor for an annual physical. Although I felt fine, he made me feel bad when he said I was now old enough to be eligible for a winter flu shot. That was on top of the colonoscopy news about which I already wrote. As the winter approached, I made an appointment and went in for a flu shot. So, when I took ill mid-February, I was feeling the unexpected.
Not knowing what my unpleasant symptoms meant, and wanting to nip whatever I had in the bud, I called the doctor and went in to obtain an expert opinion. I got the physician’s assistant. So it goes. As it turned out, I was diagnosed with a viral upper respiratory infection so did not need antibiotics. Great, I thought. I didn’t need to make a stop at the pharmacy. As a Jew, though, I figured some homemade chicken soup would be in order, so I went to the supermarket to buy what I needed for my great Jewish remedy.
I grabbed a cart and wheeled it inside. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a man about 30 years old with a puppet on his hand. He looked a bit weird to me. Creepy, in fact. Who wears a puppet on his hand to the supermarket? Not wanting to waste time investigating because I really wasn’t feeling well, I headed first to the produce section to get what I needed for a nice soup. Then, after picking up some chicken thighs and a few other items, I headed to the check-out aisle. I also picked up a copy of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Couldn’t resist. There’s an Israeli on the cover – Bar Rafaeli. http://justjared.buzznet.com/gallery/photos.php?yr=2009&mon=02&evt=refaeli-sports&pic=bar-refaeli-sports-illustrated-cover-01.jpg Don’t you just love the way men justify their purchases?
While I was packing my groceries, I asked Donna, the checkout girl, if she had noticed the guy with the puppet on his hand. She hadn’t but I made some joke about it anyway. After I paid, I made my way to the door.
As I got to the door, there was more than one person with a hand puppet. There were two. A young woman was the perp’s partner. They were standing by a display table full of booklets and other items. Although I didn’t notice which organization they represented, it was one of those outfits dedicated to stopping kidnapping by having kids fingerprinted. I am sure there were many other safety tips for parents, but I didn’t get too close to the table to see what they had except for a large banner which clearly mentioned fingerprints. I had two new playmates to tease, wasn’t feeling all that well, so didn’t feel like reading their literature.
I said hello and asked what the puppets were for. The young woman started to explain the campaign to me while her male partner just stood there, looking a bit embarrassed. After all, he was hanging around a supermarket with a puppet on his hand. Friends, I just couldn’t help myself and will do my best to transmit my monologue to you to the best of my memory.
“Puppets? I used to use puppets along with a puppy to attract kids. Most kids can’t resist a cute puppy. So what are you guys doing here? Trying to ruin my social life? Don’t think I am giving you my fingerprints. And forget about getting my D.N.A. Actually, (speaking to the woman), I would be happy to give you my D.N.A., just not using a method traditionally accepted for your purposes.” She was kind of cute.
They figured I was joking and good for them. I was. They asked me if I would be interested in purchasing one of their t-shirts. I decided to wipe the smiles off their faces and replied: “Listen, kids, I am a level three sex offender and I am not buying one of your t-shirts. Have a nice day. Gotta go!” That seemed to make them wonder. And, just in case you are wondering, I am not a child molester. How could you even think that? Because I have a dog who was once a puppy? Shame on you.
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