Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...


I Grin, They Bear It

It comes as no surprise to me that those who've known my most august self longest feel little pity for me in my supposed suffering while in exile from the land of my birth; quite frankly, I expect no less. The other night, Lisa called me. I was kindasortofmaybe in the middle of something, so I told my lovely sister I'd call her back in a little while. When I ended up going to bed without calling, I felt guilty enough to return my eldest sibling's phone call the next afternoon to apologize, use of my anytime minutes notwithstanding.

A quick note is in order here: for those of you not familiar with my telephoning habits, please realize that I am worse than normal at returning calls, or even answering them to begin with. This is why Jan chides me in her claim that she is not one of the Elect, her way of saying that she is not one of those individuals whose phone call I will answer. What lies, I tell you! Anyway, back to the main point at hand.

Lisa told me that the reason for her original phone call was to tell me that Mon and Mary were, at that very moment, trading John Boy stories, and comparing them with Kyle stories. Translation in non-Letoto family speak? My three older sisters were laughing at my expense, but what's more, they were laughing at the ways in which my 11 year-old nephew is comparable to me. Is this a rare occurrence? Hardly. Is such an event one that is unequivocally deserved, even while I, the party in mockery, was not there to defend myself? Alas, yes, it is.

For proof of this, one need look no further than the week that's gone past. Just yesterday alone, Boyce College's Miss Texas suffered insufferable sufferings in my presence. For instance, I had her believing that I didn't know my true birthday, and that the date any and all legal documentation pertaining to my date of birth contained was purely arbitrarily contrived. When I spun my little deception with even greater chicanery and depth, telling her that that was the reason for my lack of birthday celebrations, she felt immensely sorry for me. One can only guess at how long I could have kept up my happy foolery, had not a certain man named David ruined my fun.

Another instance involving Miss Texas nearly had her putting her cell phone to her lips with one hand while raising her other hand high in the air, all in order to get a reception on her phone. Why? I made up some blarney about the metallic content in one's skull and teeth acting as a conduit for better cell phone reception. She was buying it until I started laughing quite uproariously :) Her indignant cries of, "You're lying to me!" may still be echoing across Lexington Road.

Dr. W would also agree with the spirit of the unmerciful sibling storyswapping my sisters engaged in the other evening, even if he remained ignorant of the particulars. His Systematic Theology II class is one that he looks forward to, I daresay, if only because it grants him the singular opportunity to poke fun at me, his captive in the midst of a classroom audience, for three hours. I do not begrudge him his proverbial jailor's keys, however, for I more than make up for any gentle chiding I may receive in the midst of his instruction. How so? Well, just yesterday Dr. W was making a point about the atonement. I do not remember precisely where he was in his outline, but he employed the use of an illustration wherein he spoke of a man going into a pawn shop to obtain money. The man spoken of by Dr. W took off from his wrist his "rolodex," placed it on the counter, and asked for cash in exchange. To my sharp mind, the error was immediately clear. I asked Dr. W if giving the pawn shop owner a rolodex instead of a Rolex would be so that he could call all of the man's friends and relatives if he did not pay him back. We laughed, had our joke, and were done with it. Or so Dr. W thought. During the break, the whiteboard had a list of items pertaining to the atonement. I stealthily snuck behind him, wrote "rolodex" in the place of one of the latter items yet to have been expounded upon, and patiently awaited my small victory at the jailor's expense. I was not disappointed :)

Miss Veronika Little, who has come to Boyce College by way of Panama City, Florida, is undeniably unique. Occasionally, her unique nature grants me opportunity to...oh...laugh long and loud and clear. Proof? This post.

Of course, on the campus of Boyce College and Southern Seminary, it is becoming increasingly difficult to know me and not know of my particular knack for acquiring food (and other things). Whence I came upon my attribute of acquisitional affluence, I know not, but I am somewhat intimidated by the fact that I now find myself turning down food, as this speaks of the plethora of provender that has continually come my way. Just this week, Massachusetts native Nick Crouse nearly gained a southern accent when I did not initially accept his offer of a free sandwich. Once my error was corrected, Mr. Crouse's vocal equilibrium was restored, and my metabolic reputation remained intact.

I could go on for quite some time, as there are many more tales of derring-do and happy hilarity that have been manufactured by my mischievous mind and hands. If I listed them all, well, I don't want to brag, but...

Just kidding!

In closing, I'll leave you with one last thought. I do believe that my sisters would agree with me when I claim that Kyle isn't the only little boy I might remind them of. Aaahhh...the pleasures of silly human interaction...

posted by Bolo | 8:01 PM
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