I Can't Find My Jars of Urine, and Other Stories

Mom had bought a new gizmo and was squinting at the instructions covered in Korean and squibbly. She sighed heavily.

"What is this. The nozzle? Okay, this says the nozzle is supposed to attach to the female socket." She turned the nozzle around and looked through it as if an old-timey spyglass. "What do they mean?"

"Mom, do we need to have the talk? You see, when a boy nozzle loves a girl socket very much..."

Mom threw down the gizmo. "Oh, I hate this. I'm so sick of this quarantine! I want it to stop. I'm so anxious. And the news is so awful."

"You have to stop watching the news all the time, Mom. It's just a bunch of nattering nabobs of negativity. Or blithering bunkum-mongers of boneheadedness. Or schlepping shit-sayers of shagadelics."

"And with that idiot in the White House we're never going to get free of this. We're doomed."

"Just think of this as an excellent opportunity to wear Kleenex boxes on your feet."

Mom looked around the living room. Behind her Bingo growled from the depths of deepest hell. "Where did I put my Lifesavers? You know I like to have everything just so. In the morning I feed Bingo, and then the cat, and then the birds and the squirrels. You should see it. They're all out there in the back yard waiting for me at five in the morning, just waiting for me to throw out some seed for them, the poor darlings. I follow the same routine every morning. Just like I have to have drawers closed just so. Do you think I have COPD?"

"Well, that might explain why you feel like an elephant is on your chest when you check to see if the gas burners are still on."

Mom frowned. "Are you ever going to get rid of that awful beard? You look like a madman."

"My beard is truth in advertising."

"Freemasons are running the country."

"But the good news is that I've been signed to play Thing in the new Spielberg biopic movie (right after he finishes GRANT)."

"My mom is CRA-A-AZY, folks! Gaaaah!!"

"I wish you wouldn't make jokes. This is a very terrible time for everyone."

"Right, sorry. In fact, Pat has been having a hard time. Some old man spit on his dog."

"What? Oh, no. Please. I don't want to hear about Pat."

"He was in the park, walking his dog..."

"Why do you continue to have anything to do with him?"

"Latin, Mom. Latin. Anyway, he was in the park with his dog and, being a conscientious citizen, he made wide berth for this old fella walking the other way. You know, for social distancing--and let me tell you, I'm not sick of that phrase yet. Apparently, the old fella took offense that Pat made berth and got right in Pat's face and coughed. 'You think I have the virus?' he yelled. 'Here ya go, punk!' Then he turned and spit on the dog. That's when Pat hit the guy with a clean uppercut. He didn't just hit him--he had a name for the punch. The guy's denture plate flew out and he bit off part of his tongue. Pat says the guy started spewing blood everywhere, and when Pat got home his shirt looked like he'd been at a butcher's. He ended by saying he thinks the guy was a Trump supporter. So... a happy ending?"

"Bingo, be good. But tell me what you're going to do today."

"Just be at home. I've been typing ALL PLAY AND NO WORK MAKE GREG GO WEIRD. And then I bounce a ball and wait for my academy award."

"Why do you have to be so snide all the time?"

"Well, look at my parents."

"Oh! How can you say that?"

"Just a joke, Mom. Can't we have some levity during this time of zombie cannibalism?"

Mom looked at me. Finally, she said, "No."

"Right."

With that Bingo exploded from the corner and came at me. I tried spitting on him, but I missed!