In
my last column, I admitted to some things I've never done in my 50-something-year-old-dude-type-person
life. (I still haven't been to Hooters.)
So, of course, that discussion brought to mind a few things I've actually
accomplished—or committed—and deeply regret.
1. I'm not sure why I thought of this first (and probably don't want
to know), but I once tried one of those back shavers with the extra-long
handle in order to try and look more like Ryan Gosling and less like
a pregnant labradoodle with mange. Instead, when I came out of the
shower after my first "shave," my back and shoulders looked like they
had tangled with a rabid potato peeler. And I still had as much back
hair as ever—if not more! I think the shaver just brought the
rest of it out of the closet.
2. And speaking of shaving, several years ago, when our three semi-grown
daughters were younger and less traumatized when I wandered around
the house shirtless, they asked what I would look like if I shaved
my chest—so I showed them. (We're hoping the nightmares will
eventually go away on their own.)
3. Turning from manscaping to spiritual matters, one of my most recent
regrets was clicking on a text from my eldest and most expensive daughter
during church. Because she rarely texts unless she needs something
expensive, wants something expensive or has damaged something expensive,
I couldn't resist. (I also continue to labor under the delusion that
setting my cell phone to "silent" has any effect on the volume.) When
I clicked on her text, it played an earsplitting clip from a SpongeBob
SquarePants cartoon—right in the middle of "The Beatitudes."
I naturally blamed it on my wife.
4. I actually have a long history of embarrassment in Baptist sanctuaries.
When I was in the church youth group during junior high, I decided
to join the puppet ministry. (Yes, church puppets were a thing then,
and I may or may not have been wearing parachute pants at the time.)
During my first (and last) performance, I was experiencing tremendous
pain in my adolescent noodle arm, which caused a serious hand-puppet-control
problem. During the solemn portion of the show, my flabtastic arm
started listing badly behind the curtain. Peals of laughter ensued
because instead of sharing the Gospel, my puppet appeared to be making
out vigorously with his stuffed brethren on stage. No one got saved
that night, but at least there was joy in the house of the Lord.
5. This last regret has two parts that almost always go together—mowing
the lawn in tennis shoes and spousal support during minor surgery.
In the early years of my marriage, I learned that push mowing on a
sharp incline while wearing Nikes will likely result in a visit to
the ER and a humiliating story for your friends to bring up at parties.
To make a short story shorter, while the ER doctor was stitching up
my big toe, my wife, who had joined me in the room for moral support
(and probably to laugh at me), proceeded to pass out (probably from
laughing). When the nurse came in, the doctor was performing a graceful
second arabesque with my mangled toe in one hand and my comatose wife
in the other. If only we had TikTok back then.
I could go on and on, but I need to pray, find my steel toe boots,
and condition my back hair. |
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