It seems that my hunch may be correct: I am becoming a caveman. It’s unfortunate when you look at it, what with all the schooling and *grunt* education to which I was exposed. All the taxpayer dollars the good citizens of Bugtussle, Oklahoma (still proud of our hometown hero Carl Albert, former Speaker of the House, and professional thimble hunter (okay, I made that part up…maybe)) spent to get me where I *grunt* am today, and here I go devolving. Most distressing.
I started to begin thinking my brain was *grunt* beginning to mimic rice pudding when I found myself daydreaming during a conversation with my wife. It wasn’t that the topic was boring (no doubt something I had screwed up or something she needed me to do so she *grunt* could have the opportunity to tell me that I screwed up). I was genuinely interested in having the conversation. All I remember is realizing she was smiling and I was nodding and smiling and the conversation had apparently ended.
Taken by itself, no big deal, right? We’ve all been there. And it’s not just one conversation and it’s not just with my wife, but it’s with all the other people with whom I have contact. I’ve started to *grunt* believe that conversations need not be taking place for anything except A. I’m Hungry, B. I need to go somewhere, C. I require something that necessitates brief vocal interaction with a fellow human, or D. There is a large object falling from a very high location and has reached terminal velocity and very quickly shall meet with rapid deceleration once it makes contact with your cranium so moving would be advisable. *Grunt*.
Then there is the fact that I stare at a wall. Like my fellow cavemen…cavewomen, caveperson…whatever…*grunt*, they stared at cave walls and I stare at a wall in my house. Granted there is a television affixed to the wall, but aside from that, it’s pretty much dead-on. Then there is the hair. No, not my hair on my head, but weird hairs that spring up in odd places for no apparent reason. Why, oh why, would one *grunt* need hair growing out of one’s elbow?
Of course I’m developing the mood of a caveman as well. Like my ancient ancestors, unneeded movement is frowned upon and my mood turns rather sour when I come across wasted movement. If only I could develop a way to get the bathroom to come to me, I wouldn’t have to waste the movement to have a movement while I’m wall-watching. Haven’t come up with a way yet, but when I do I’ll be one more *grunt* step closer to my complete caveman state.
Luckily my appetite has matched and even surpassed that of my ancestors. And, like them, it’s the basic food staples; meat, bread, meat, water, meat, cheese…okay they didn’t have cheese but it’s darn good. No fru-fru stuff for *grunt* me, just a slab of meat about the size of Fred Flintstones meal in the opening credits of the show.
You may be thinking that my family should be *grunt* concerned about my transformation and maybe, just maybe this would alter their view of me. Thankfully they probably won’t be able to tell the difference. So until next time, folks…
Be *grunt* or Be *grunt* At It!