Aunt Mary’s Mustache

My friend lives across town forty minutes away. She lives by Hatcher Lake and I live on the Lower Blanco. We talk once a week on the phone. I’ve quoted her many times, but never used her name. My friend wants to stay hidden.

What’s with that? She says she’s an introvert and doesn’t want to be seen or heard. She doesn’t post on Facebook, and she doesn’t use her e-mail. She’s not like the rest of us, who live in our insane world of exposure. I need to change her thinking. Introverts have to be drawn out. The things she says are funny, I can’t keep them to myself.

In our immediate family of twelve, we have nine introverts. I didn’t know my family was actually normal, just irritating.

Irritating or not, my friend has enlightened me about things and over the years our conversations have grown more comical. When we talk on the phone or have lunch together, we go into a George Burns and Gracie act. I’m not sure who’s who. All I know she’s funny, and I need more material for my column. She’s given me permission to use our conversations but I can’t use her name. So, I’ve changed her name to Sheila.

It was news to me when another friend said she liked the way I wrote about My Sweet Al and used humor to do it. She asked me to teach a class. I had to think about it. What makes things funny?

Humor is in the angst. You either get mad or you get happy and make fun of the dilemma or people. Humor is always at some one’s expense. Some one always pays. That’s exactly what happens when I write about My Sweet Al. He’s also an introvert.

When My Sweet Al brought the newspaper into the house I asked him which article was in the paper.

He said, “It’s the Eskimo one.”

I said, “What? Let me see that paper.  I’ve never written about Eskimos in my life. You must mean it was epi gnosko. Discovering my muse. I was discovering you, apparently you weren’t discovering me.”

I called Sheila and said, “I need a break. I’ve taken on another project and my head hurts from thinking. I only have so many brain cells and they’re all firing.”

She broke out in song, “This girl is on Fire. She’s walking on fire… This girl is on fire… Ohhh oh oh oh. We got our feet on the ground and we’re burning it down. Ohhhh oh oh oh, got our head in the clouds, and we’re not coming down.”

I said, “Are you finished?”

“Yes, What else is going on?”

”I’ve been cleaning up dog hair all day. Al’s dog, Whiskey, has so much hair, I could crochet an afghan if I had time.”

“It’s better than wearing it on your lip”. She said, “I’ve got a mug that says beware there’s dog hair at the bottom of this mug.”

“Really, it says that? That’s terrible. Yuck.”

“Talking about hair,” She said. “I have a friend in Florida who had a black and white cat. The cat has a black mustache. And my friend’s Aunt Mary had even a blacker mustache. She named the cat, Aunt Mary.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m going to have to talk to the hair lady who removes womens’ mustaches. She knows all about hair on the face. I think there’s something funny here. I’ve got to write about Aunt Mary’s mustache one day.”

“Change my name if you quote me. You never quote me right.”

“Don’t be such an introvert. I need some new subjects. My daughter said that people are tired of reading about Daddy’s junk.”

My hidden friend said, “Maybe your daughter has something there to think about. I’m blushing as I tell you this. Men are now calling their parts “junk.” It might be better not to write about Daddy’s junk anymore.”

Heaven help me. I’ve told the world. I put it on Facebook. I can’t take it back. Maybe I should be an introvert and hide. My family would like that.  I can’t stop. I’m on a roll. I’ve got two people who are feeding me funny lines now, My Sweet Al and my friend who doesn’t want to be known.

Final Brushstroke! I’m helping out the introverts, giving them a voice. There’s too much good stuff out there to keep it hidden. We need a little laughter, if not, I think we would be crying in our mug with hair at the bottom.