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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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December 2005 / January 2006 Contest Results |
Males Don't
Stand A Chance
By Leslie Friesen
Dallas, OR
Not many of the
male species survive long in our house. Take Shane for instance. The
poor little guy never stood a chance.
We brought two fish, Shane and Hannah, home from the pet store
yesterday. The adorable pair sported neon blue stripes down their backs
and darted about the aquarium in unison. For about 60 minutes. One
brief hour in my estrogen-oozing family sent Shane packing to hide in
his cave in a pink fluorescent rock tower. Pretty quickly, he gave up and
went belly up. Sigh. Another one down the drain.
I like males, I really do. I adore my son, Dawson. In fact, I enjoyed
him so much I decided that he needed a brother.
Baby #2 arrived right on schedule. A girl. Desiree was a cute little
thing, though, so I kept her.
Baby #3. Another girl. Dang! But Baby #2 needed a playmate so I kept
Faith, as well.
Baby #4. A girl. Jenna Lee. This wasn’t funny anymore. It struck me that
God DOES possess a sense of humor and I was His joke.
I gave up on babies and tried animals instead. We adopted a feisty Jack
Russell terrier from the animal shelter. If I couldn’t give Dawson a
brother, at least I could give him a male dog to pal around with. Before
long, Buddy couldn’t handle the stress and began biting the girls.
Bye-bye Buddy. Sigh. Another one.
Next I brought home the cutest little orange furball from the feed store.
Smart girl that I am, I checked three times with the clerk to make sure
that Garfield was a boy. I couldn’t make... um, heads or tails out of that
end of him. But she assured me he was a male and I proudly took the
kitten home. I felt such satisfaction. It took eight years, but I
finally snagged a boy for Dawson!
Unfortunately, one day Garfield began acting strangely. His meow
switched from contentment to a horrid, anguished sound. His rear legs
struggled to support the back half of his body and he drug his hind end
along the floor. I made a tearful emergency run to the vet’s office,
certain that he suffered from either a ruptured disc in his spine or an
intestinal blockage.
In the exam room, Garfield’s cry shook me into a near panic. Distraught,
I steeled myself for the bad news. The patient doctor then gently
explained the ins and outs of cat ownership and feline sexuality. He was
a she, after all, and she was in heat. Garfield wasn’t in agony... she just
wanted to, well, you know. Dang. Another girl.
Poor Dawson. He doesn’t even have a clue what we girls are talking about
half the time. We did force him to watch a movie with us last week. We
popped popcorn, snuggled up in fluffy quilts on my waterbed, and
watched, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. The girls and I loved that
movie and gushed about its star, southern candy Matthew McConaughey.
At the end, Dawson stormed back to his cave, er... bedroom, muttering
something about needing blood and body counts.
Wait a minute. Didn’t the fish try hiding in his cave, too?
http://www.scarlettdz9.com
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