Weekend Update

Letters. We get letters.
We get lots and lots of letters.

Isn't it amazing that more than 50 years after they sang this on the Perry Como TV show, it still sticks in my mind. Anyhow, unlike Perry, I don't get lots and lots of letters and I certainly have no requests to sing the song you like best. But this being the weekend I thought it would be a good chance to catch up on a couple of responses to some posts.

First Jaki wrote after reading about my reaction to Robert's "innovative" diving suit design involving a fishbowl as my helmet, which also included a picture of an old dive suit that might have been stretched to fit me if I was content to never breathe out and forgo having blood circulate in my limbs.

She wrote: "Just wanted you to know that I had no part in the designing of the Dive Suit. Fact is I cried when he poured "Goldie" out in the back yard on the frost ridden grass, even the gravel was cold. As far as the "suit" part - that guy has been hanging in my laundry room for over 2 years now, can't imagine why he has no head nor where it could have gone but he seems pretty content to just hang there. I'll work on getting Robert to REALLY look into this project a little more SERIOUSLY."

I doubt that she will have much luck changing this mad scientist, but good luck to her.

And yesterday I was talking with my mother who had just read my ramblings about my body's not quite classical proportions in my last post.

"I think you were very unfair to yourself in your blog," she said. "You don't have a big head."

I thanked her for her totally unbiased opinion, but explained that it wasn't my idea but some street artist in Paris who had yelled it at me.

She obviously was still doing her motherly bit to help improve my self esteem, forgetting that a few days earlier she had told me she laughed til she cried reading about me scooting across the floor because my knee was a mess and I couldn't get up.

"And lots of people's arms are longer than their legs," she said.

"But my sleeve length is 35 inches, and my inseam is only 28," I said.

"Oh," she said. "You really do have short legs. I never noticed." Well, at least she tried to make me feel better.

And overhearing that phone call, the lovely LK piped in, "Even my legs are longer than yours."

And my bride, obviously also worried about my self esteem, quickly added, "But you do have a long trunk."

It's nice that the women in my life are trying to make me feel better. And I am a tad sorry they aren't a bit better at it. But, it doesn't matter. I am pretty comfortable with the hand I've been dealt (even if there are stubby fingers at the end of it).

In fact, in that earlier post about the big head, etc, I had meant to also write about the time I went to get the car serviced. A woman and her little girl were ahead of me at the counter when the girl turned around, opened her eyes wide and pointed.

"Look, Mama," she said. "He's got a fat tummy!"

Probably just as well I left it out. I'm pretty sure none of the women in my life are going to try to disabuse me of that one.