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| The Oracle at Delphi after being asked one too many dopey questions. |
One
of the mystifying parts of my job description as the Oracle of Saint Cloud is
being expected to answer unanswerable questions. It ranks right up there with
being asked to smell moldy cheese to determine “goodness.”
It
usually happened like this:
While napping—and happy, some
miscellaneous kid would shove a block of sharp cheddar under my nose and
screech, “Smell this! Is it still good?”
To
which I would reply, without opening my eyes, “Sure. Sure. Just cut off the
green stuff.”
But
that’s not really the oracle part of my job, that’s more the food and drug
administration part of my job.
The
oracle part of my job consists of being asked stupid questions. Questions to
which there are no rational answers. Questions that would stump people who
think they know everything—like graduates of state universities. Questions like
. . .
“Why
did the cat wee-wee on all the Christmas decorations?”
“What
is wrong with that crazy kid, and why won’t he quit sucking ink out the red
magic markers?”
“Why
is that goat eating charcoal?”
“When
will this kid learn to speak recognizable English?”
“What’s
the best way to get bubble gum out of buttocks hair?”
Oh
wait. That last question is one that I asked, back when my husband sat on a wad
of bubble gum that wicked children had spit out in the bathtub. That question
actually has an answer, but you’ll need to email me for the information.
And
then there’s the ever-popular, “Why can’t anyone in the entire western
hemisphere—except me—press the spring loaded toilet paper holder out, slip a
new roll of toilet paper on, and pop the sucker back into the wall fixture?”
Oh
wait! That’s my question too. Hey,
you know what I need? I need my own personal oracle, and then I could ask her
the answers to all those other dopey questions.
Linda
(Crystal Ball) Zern
