It's been a banner week in the life of Bone. A banner ten days, actually.
The second trimester, if you will, of July had a quite inauspicious beginning when I discovered I had left a virtually full pack of gum in the pocket of my shorts. That would have been fine, except that at the time of this discovery, said shorts had already gone through the washing machine and had been in the dryer for about forty minutes.
So there I was at 11:30 on a Friday night, on my knees using an SOS pad to try and scrub copious amounts of melted gum from the inside wall of my dryer. Fortunately, I was able to get most of it off, but my fingers smelled like Stride Spearmint for two days, which turned out to be sort of a pleasant surprise whenever I'd accidentally catch a whiff of them. It's quite the bachelor's paradise I have created here, don't you think? A veritable Eden of singledom.
Then on Monday of last week, I was taking out the trash when at once I found myself in the midst of a swarm of ginormous killer bees. The largest bees I have ever seen. There must have been twenty or thirty of them. I never even made it to the dumpster, instead turning tail and running the other way, trash bag still in hand. It was one of the most harrowing experiences of my mostly sheltered life.
As I sprinted, all I could see was Brian Williams on NBC Nightly News doing the lead story: "Killer bees have returned to the United States." Run, Bone, run! I don't want to be a statistic! I narrowly -- and I thought somewhat miraculously -- escaped without a single sting.
As luck would have it, there was a lady nearby who kindly informed me that I had just been "attacked" by a swarm of June bugs.
Oh... um... do they sting, too?
The week progressed, as weeks are wont to do. On Friday, tidings arrived by way of the text message that Wolfgang had gotten engaged. Yes, you heard it here first (unless you happen to be one of his Facebook friends): Wolfgang is getting married!
The engagement consummates a whirlwind five-month courtship, which is like light-speed to me. I prefer to plod along at a snail's pace, slow and steady. No one's in any hurry. Nobody's going anywhere. Let's not make any sudden movements. I'm like the tortoise in The Tortoise & The Hare, and I think we all know how that turns out.
More importantly, this is the end of the three amigos as we know them, and I feel... a bit odd. It's going to be strange with only one Darryl around. Do Remaining Darryl and I try and find a replacement Darryl, or move on just us two, Bosom Buddies-style? Neither of the Darryls ever got married on Newhart, so it's really hard to know for sure what to do. There is no guidebook.
I guess this is what comes from basing too much of my life on a TV show. I feel disillusioned.
And I always thought the second trimester was supposed to be the easiest.
"I got ketchup on my blue jeans, I just burned my hand. Lord, it's hard to be a bachelor man..."