Here, There, and Everywhere
Perhaps that was a decision deserving of a bit more thoughtful consideration. In any event, why must every day start the same? Why must I live my own Groundhog Day moment, over and over and over? You know, much like Bill Murray’s character did in the
1993 film of the same name?
Upon waking, with blurry eyes, I stumble into the bathroom. As I stand in front of the sink at barely 6:30 AM, I have my first “I see old people” encounter. I quickly stand up a little taller. Just as quickly, I suck in my gut and stand tall and proud. Much to my chagrin, the look on the old person looking back at me speaks volumes. Clearly, he was not impressed.
Without fail as I move about our new neighborhood, all day long, I continue to see old people. They walk their dogs, they play chicken foot dominos and other equally strange games, and they get their mail. They move about each day much the same as I do. All the while smiling that special smile. You know the one you get when you have a piece of salad caught in your teeth. The one you get when your fly is undone.
Everywhere I go there they are. Smiling and waving. It is unnerving to say the least. I carefully run my tongue across my teeth and then as nonchalantly as possible brush my hand across my fly. Everything seems in order. With but a pinch of confidence, I smile and wave back. But I know. Deep down inside, I do indeed know. Yep, they are all privy to an inside joke for which I have yet to learn the punchline.
Just Smile and Wave
Admittedly, I am on the low end of the bell curve. Most of the members of our quiet, smiling, waving community are older than me. Perhaps in due time, I too will know what they know. Perhaps in due time, I too will smile and wave and watch. Watch as some other unknowing newbie runs their tongue across their teeth and nonchalantly brushes their hand across their fly.
Until then, every day, I am doomed. Doomed in my own personal Groundhog Day hell. Upon waking, with blurry eyes, I stumble into the bathroom. I stand in front of the sink, quickly stand up a little taller, and suck in my gut. Once again, the blank look staring back at me makes it clear. He is no more impressed than he was the day before.
For some time now, I have been thinking about painting over that damn mirror. But what to do about all those smiling and waving, dog walking, chicken foot dominos playing, mail getting neighbors? It seems all too reminiscent of a scene from
The Stepford Wives. The 1975 version, not the 2004 remake.
Perhaps once again, my imagination has run amok. Maybe I have simply been watching too many reruns of the 1960s freaks-me-out-every-time shows,
The Twilight Zone and
The Outer Limits. Then again, maybe not.
