The email is piling up and my computer is 'threatening to blow'. Don't worry if you don't understand what 'threatening to blow' means, it is a technical phrase only understood by highly trained experts such as myself.
Dear Larainy Days,
Will man ever walk on the moon again?
Izzie Louisville Kentucky
Well Izzie, apparently you folks down yonder in Kentucky have got way too much time on yer hands ever since Dan'l Boone killed all the bears and Johnny Appleseed planted all those thar apple trees. You need to head on out to the barn and take care of that spindly legged new colt that you are vainly hopin' will become a Kentucky Derby longshot winner so you can wear a dorky hat and drink mint juleps. I reckon you need to let the rest of us worry about what is happening in outer space.
Editorial note: I like to reply to my readers in a language or dialect that they will understand
Dear Larainy Days, What is is store for Miley Cyrus? She was so cute and innocent, but now every time I see her she is wearing hot pants. Ethel Erie, Pennsylvania
Oh Ethel, I hate to be the one to break this to you because obviously that is the job of "People" Magazine, but little Miley has been adopted by Lindsay Lohan and they are going into business together and developing a model for smoothies made of nonfat yogurt, wheatgrass and vodka. If you want information on a franchise you will have to agree that all your employees will wear hotpants.
Dear Larainy Days,
What do you think about Apple's newest version of the iphone?
Waldo Sulphurdale, Utah
Dear Waldo,
Anything that can be repaired with duct tape can't be all bad.
What Albert, the seeing-eye goat saw was a man… a real man, nothing like the pathetic squishy mulleted lump lying duct taped and helpless on Flora’s cabin floor. The real man’s manly shape filled the open door way; a shape formed of muscles molded miraculously over a symmetrical framework of bones made strong by years of copious calcium intake and clean living. It was shape held together with sinew as strong as piano wire, a shape encased in skin that bore the flush of outdoor living and good health. The gentle forest breeze blew past this man and the scent it carried into Flora’s delicate chiseled nostrils whispered, “Conrad is here…and he smells just as delicious as ever.”
“Conrad, is it…could it be…” Words failed the gentle Flora, and her fair complexion paled into a hue more akin to organic skim milk than 2%.
“Flora!” He spoke the name with reverence, regret and the timbre of his voice reverberated through the timber of the forest. Never had a name been spoken with such meaning; regret, devotion…longing.
Flora took a tentative step toward him, and then turned away, her slender hand nervously touching her swanlike neck. “Conrad, it has been three years. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I had to stay away Flora, I couldn’t bear to see what I had done to you”. The words were torn from his throat like a strip of wax under an overgrown eyebrow.
Flora turned back toward him, her feathery black eyelashes sweeping fruitlessly over her beautiful, sightless eyes. “Oh Conrad, When my eyes closed, my heart opened; and I really began to see.”
Wendell came to, finding himself bound and gagged on the Flora’s sustainable bamboo floor and began to wriggle like an earthworm on a hot sidewalk. Albert clicked clacked to his side and lowered his shaggy head, tickling Wendell with his wiry goat whiskers. Wendell sneezed behind the duct tape that covered his mouth and Albert licked his face in an accommodating way.
“What do you mean Flora?” Conrad took her arm and led her out the cabin door and to the porch swing woven of willow wands by the Sightless Brothers of the Forest. “What did you see without eyes that you couldn’t see with eyes??” The swing rocked gently under their firmly formed fannies.
Flora sighed, and her breath tickled Conrad’s neck, making his well shaped adam’s apple bob like it was in a tub of water at a Halloween party. She continued “When I could no longer see the sunset, the eyes of my soul finally opened to the miracle of memory.” Conrad’s eyes smarted and he brushed at them with the back of a lightly furred knuckle. Flora’s honeyed voice continued. “When I could no longer see the mighty Ponderosa pines I finally heard the song the wind makes through the boughs.” A sudden gust through the treetops seemed to accompany her words.
Conrad took her in his arms then, and there was no need for words as Flora’s tiny frame melted into him like she was Jello and he was a Tupperware mold. As Conrad’s gently parted lips met hers a conduit opened between them and thoughts intertwined as freely as the nectar of their saliva.
Albert the seeing-eye goat watched the two lovers rock and kiss and rock and kiss until he grew bored and went back inside to gnaw on Wendell’s savory Walmart sneakers.
Dusk had fallen and it was getting chilly before Conrad finally spoke, “My darling…there is something I want you to see.”
Can we imagine the feelings of this beautiful young blind woman as she opened the door to Conrad, the man who had blinded her physically, blindsided her emotionally and who had been playing blind man’s bluff for the past three years? Faintness swept through Flora’s darling respiratory system, leaving her complexion as pale and delicate as a porcelain doll valued at $6,000 on Antiques Roadshow. Her voice was uncertain as she stretched forth a tentative hand, “Conrad?”
And then she was in his arms, arms that wrapped around her, squeezing tighter and tighter, until she couldn’t breathe. Her head was spinning, emotions pirouetting like a Russian prima donna. Her hand reached to touch his chiseled face, but he turned his head and suddenly she felt the grizzled mullet under her sensitive fingers. Her hand recoiled as if it had encountered unorganic lettuce.
Wendell began to laugh, the horrible wheezy laughter that had haunted Flora’s dreams since her first encounter with Conrad’s evil twin. “Whoo wee, well, lookee here…” The odious man paused and took a step toward Flora. “Beg your pardon, I guess you can’t look at anything, can you darlin’?”
Flora stepped backward, grasping the door to swing it shut on her loathsome visitor. A dingy Velcro Wal-Mart sneaker blocked the door, which bounced back and hit Flora on the forehead. She lost her balance and sat down hard on the renewable bamboo floor, bruising her left cheek, which was a perfect twin to the one on the right. Her finely developed sense of smell told her that Wendell had eaten a #5 super size combo meal at Taco Bell in the not too distant past, and that he was coming to get her.
Flora’s full red lips pursed, emitting a piercing whistle that sliced through the heavy grunting coming from Wendell, who froze in surprise. There was a cacophony of hoof beats as Flora’s protective goat Albert came blazing toward the unwelcome guest. Albert lowered his head and butted Wendell with the force of his love for his friend Flora; love that had blossomed after she rescued him from the abusive children in the petting zoo. The goat’s bony cranium hit Wendell in an area known to be especially sensitive to approximately half of the world’s population. Wendell’s lips pulled back over his tobacco stained teeth in a grimace that would have put Flora in a coma if she could have seen it. He didn’t crumple, but fell like a rotten log to the floor, cold as a wedge.
Albert gave a baaaaaa of satisfaction and was rewarded with a hug from Flora. “Oh Albert, you brave thing. Why, you rescued me you sweet, sensible old goat.” Flora’s melodious tones and gentle kind words communicated with Albert in the age old way imagined only by those that think that animals have people emotions. “Now Albert” Flora entreated, go fetch me the duct tape.”
Albert clattered away, returning momentarily with a roll of tape that Flora used to bind Wendell’s grubby hands and feet. She tore off a shorter length and covered his mouth, cutting the burrito supreme fumes by 50%.
Dear Larainy Days,
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