The Wickedly Absurd
by Hénock Gugsa
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Not too surprising … but every now and then, life throws me a curve ball. It could be something amusing or precariously funny. It may even be totally and wickedly absurd. Such was the case of my recent bout with lower back pain.
While the ailment itself is rather chronic with me, this latest installment is going to stay specially memorable. You see, the medicines my doctor prescribed warned of “tarry stools” and other side effects such as nausea. But, instead, my most formidable challenge turned out to be an onset of interminable and embarrassing hiccups.
My good doctor prescribed Prednisone (20mg), and Oxycodone-Acetaminophen. For constipation, I was instructed to take two Senna Plus tablets at bedtime. But, I did not really run into a bad case of constipation. It was rather more of a bad heartburn that eventually climaxed with an attack of the abominable hiccups.
Good husband that I am, I described in great detail to my wife what I was going through. Needless to say, she does not relish this type of “sharing” in our marriage … not her idea of bliss.
In point of fact, my wife likes to burst my bubbles and dissuade me from certain illusions and impressions that strangely fill my head out of nowhere. Here’s a case in point:
Now, to me, “tarry stools” mean “late” or “lingering” bowel dispositions.
“No,” says my wife firmly. “It means that your stools will be black and sticky
as tar.”
as tar.”
“Huh!?” I say in disbelief, and challenge her assertion by bringing out our
trusty Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary - Deluxe Second
Edition. It turns out we are both right. But, I think I’m probably more right
than her.
trusty Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary - Deluxe Second
Edition. It turns out we are both right. But, I think I’m probably more right
than her.
So, now I’m reminded of two other instances when my wife has played mind games on me. As I am a great fan of westerns, I may from time to time conversationally mention Gary Cooper or John Wayne.
I remember one time when I was talking about The Hanging Tree, one of Coop’s great movies. My wife pitched in about how it used to be rumored that he was well-hung. Yikes! I didn’t want to know that.
Then on another occasion, but regarding the Duke, my dear wife not so innocuously contributed knowledge that his autopsy produced almost thirty pounds of feces. Again, this is a horrible thing to learn. Somehow though, in this case, it may be a literal confirmation of widely-held thoughts about the big fella. The Duke may indeed have been enduring “tarry stools” for years. But, always, he only grunted a little bit when he mounted up and rode away!
Getting back to Coop, however, can this mean that he, occasionally, may have had long bouts of hiccups in his life? What if ... never mind! As I’ve intimated at the start of this essay, you never know when you might find yourself in the nether world of the insanely absurd.
