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2002-05-30 - 12:58 p.m.

And still more of BJ's "Don't Do This" list.

After one time of pleading ignorance (hey, watch it now!) to diva I learned never to say: "I don't know what the hell you're talking about" to her. Instead of going on record as being a bonehead, I should've hedged the issue and covered my simple-mindedness with a simple nonsequitur. "I can see how you might have arrived at that conclusion," or "Reality’s in the eye of the beholder,” or even a dimwitted “Hmmmm.” But no, I had to display my stupidity.

A disgusted frown and sigh followed my remark, then diva was off to her little study digging through storage bins. She returned to the kitchen with a Big Chief tablet and box of Crayolas, slammed them down on the table and said: “Maybe if I draw you a damned picture you’ll understand.”

This happened several years ago, but diva is still quick to fire off “Do I need to draw you a damned picture so you’ll understand?” anytime I lapse into knucklehead mode. diva, being neither shy nor subtle, will say this anywhere in the presence of anyone, which causes me to stutter and sputter and further prove my stupidity.

Knucklehead and my camping experiences could be synonymous. I’ve already explained one trip and the reasons why my camping days are over. Sleeping on the ground in a torrential rain storm is—to me—insane, but to sleep on the ground in a torrential rain storm with tent flaps open is brainless. Nor do I think any Girl Scout awards would be given for leaving shoes on top the picnic table in a rain storm.

Some years before that camping fiasco, I borrowed Dad’s Winnebago and diva and Viv and I took their kids on a weekend outing. We enjoyed a bonfire, hot-dogs, marshmallows and campfire stories before going off to bed for a restful sleep in the peace of the wilderness. In the late night or early morning, I awoke and needed to use the bathroom. I fell out of the strange table-turned-bed, stumbled down the narrow aisle of the RV and finally found the small bathroom. I didn’t find the light switch in the bathroom, but determined by patting my way through the room I’d located the toilet and didn’t need the light.

I did, however, need the light to exit the cramped space. Long, futile minutes searching and I was unable to find the recessed door latch. More searching, now frantic. No latch. I knocked and knocked some more, but all I got in response was raucous laughter from my fellow campers. No one came to my rescue. No one came to my rescue for a long, long time!

Not being a connoisseur of wine, I’m not discriminating in the aroma, balance, bouquet or chilling of vino. I just know I like my drinks cold. So I chill wine. Sometimes, to speed along the process, I put the wine in the freezer. And sometimes I forget the wine’s in the freezer. After exploding a half dozen or more bottles, emptying out the freezer compartment and doing a thorough cleaning, I finally learned not to chill wine in the freezer.

If you’re female, don’t even try to purchase items considered to be toys for males. Especially don’t try buying the item from a male. But I’ve already explained that, haven’t I!

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