A Few Observations

The other day, while visiting my parents, CBS ran a commercial for a program it was airing in the coming days: HEAVEN. Everyone talks about it, but do you know how to get there? We’ll tell you how. Tune into CBS on blah, blah, blah.

Dang! All these years wasted going to church meetings, paying my tithes, donating my time to teach classes and perform other responsibilities, when all I had to do was tune in to CBS. And to think my grandfather used to say that CBS stood for Certified Bull S_ _ _. Bet he’s in Hell right now saying to himself, “If only I’d watched more T.V!”

Who came up with the term “a pair of pants?” Nobody wears a pair (two similar things used together) of pants. We wear a pant with a pair of legs, but that’s far different than wearing two pants (with or without legs, although, what would be the point to wearing one or more pants if they didn’t have legs?) at the same time.

We don’t wear a pair of shirts. We wear a shirt with a pair of sleeves. So how come we wear a “pair of pants?” It’s bugging the heck out of me.

In the news this morning there was piece on a six-foot alligator that was captured last night at a metro bus stop in a very busy part of town. Oh there was footage of the gator, its capture, interviews with the trappers, etc. But nobody addressed the most important issue of all, WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad the gator was captured before any humans were hurt by him but, WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!

I doubt that he was an only gator in the pond, WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!

Where Mr. Gator was waiting for a bus are hotels, shops, restaurants, a huge water park with a lake (hmmmm, that’s a scary thought, isn’t it?), and Universal Studios just down the road—the street where they lassoed the alligator was Universal Boulevard! We’re talking people, people everywhere—we’re the number one tourist destination in the United States and one of the top destinations world-wide. Didn’t anybody involved with the capturing of this animal wonder, WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!

I work just down the road from that bus stop; WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!

I’ve driven my motorcycle past there a time or two (mating season is coming upon us and gators get a little cranky during that time—been known to attack moving vehicles); WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!

As many people know, I grew up in a household of males, 4 sons, no sisters. The former Mrs. Bagley and I have 3 sons, no daughters. So here I am, married to the best thing that’s ever happened to me and she has two young daughters, ages 4 and 5. I am so out of my element!

I’ve been invited to more tea and princesses parties than, well, I never have until now. My car still has Yosemite Sam hanging from my mirror but the console and back seats have pink and powder blue barrettes and pony tail bands (I think that's what they're called) all over them.

We have Cinderella, Murielle (just learned it's Ariel not Murielle--I believe that's what's known as a "case in point.") and other princess coloring books lying around the house. We have lotion with glitter in it, pens with fluffy, furry stuff hanging out of the tops, Barbies, and I hear lots of “Doug isn’t that _____ [fill in the blank with just about anything] beautiful?” No footballs, basketballs, Lincoln Logs, tanks, plastic cowboys, Tonka Trucks and Dozers, etc, to be found.

A few weeks ago, I found myself in a store, by myself, shopping for a birthday present for a 4-year-old girl. What the heck do I know about buying gifts for 4-year-old girls? I can’t even begin to describe the awkwardness I felt as I perused the snow globes with princesses in them (do you see a recurring theme here?), girls T-shirts and shorts (yes, with princesses on them), tea sets, dolls, etc. I ended up buying her a dining set of plates, silver wear, and cups all with three Disney princesses on them.

Put me in a store where there’s W.W. Whatever Wrestler toys, G.I. Joes and/or plastic army men, plastic sub-machine guns, plastic horses with saddles and plastic cowboys to ride them, along with rifles and the like, and I can shop, no need for any assistance at all. I know what to do.

It’s happened. Oh my gosh it’s happened! I’m officially old. The other day my brothers and I were visiting. My sons were there. Some time into our discussions of this and that and whatnot, youngest son blurted out, “Just shoot me when I get to the age where I’m discussing liver spots on my arms!”

Up to that point I hadn’t realized we’d been talking about my older brother’s high PSI (think prostate, folks) count, clogged arteries, sun and age spots. Of course, I chimed in about my maladies as did younger brother.

Now, that’s exactly what I swore I’d never do when I was youngest son’s age, and as I recall, when overhearing my parents discussing their ailments with their siblings, I said about the same thing that my son said to us--my how time is an all mighty equalizer.

Well, it's time to end this rambling and get to bed—I need my sleep so I can think of more silliness about which to write (Whoa, I almost sounded Shakespearian there, didn’t I?).