Patch It Up, Baby

Sorry, that’s an obscure reference to a song from Elvis’ semi-country period. Combing the annals (or perhaps anus) of the calendar, I discovered this morning that today is ‘I Need A Patch For That Day.’ I keep promising myself that I’m going to try to come up with more original daily posts, but when I see a holiday like this, I just can’t help it. Of course, this means that I’ll end up spending the rest of the day singing the old Clarence Carter classic, ‘Patches.’ You remember… ‘Patches, I’m depending on you son…’

While I have been subjected to medical inducements ranging from stomach tubes, to chest tubes, to IVs, to regular pills, I have never gotten the pleasure of receiving meds from a patch, unless you count the emergency room electrical shocks that have been delivered to me through very big patches that burn and take off a layer or two of epidermis when removed. I used to have patches on my jeans, but that served no medicinal purpose, other than ensuring that my friends would make fun of me on the elementary school playground. I can assure you that I will never get to try a birth control patch, unless I get really bored and want to stir up my hormonal balance. I will also probably never get to try a stop-smoking patch, so I can only hope that make a patch for me one day.

Hopefully the big medical companies will come across this because I could really use some help. The first patch I wish they would make would be one that is applied to the back of the neck and is used for controlling what comes out of the mouth. Of course, the patch could just be placed squarely over the mouth, but that isn’t a very attractive option and it would immediately signal to all you meet that you have a tendency to say stupid things. That type of revelation should usually be reserved for after someone has gotten to know you. The ‘talk-smart’ patch would force the brain to evaluate what is being said and would provide enough of a delay and analysis so that things could no longer ‘slip out’ when you might otherwise speak without thinking. Hopefully the patch could be engineered to deliver meds in 24-hour cycles because I’m not sure whether I would need this patch more at home or at work.

Then there’s the ‘action-x’ patch, which would prevent me from doing stupid things. The use of this patch would help me avoid a lot of trouble, like helping me refrain from posting pictures for all to see of how poorly my coworker parks or my regular AM playing of ‘Take This Job and Shove it,’ which I play as regularly as the ‘Pledge of Allegiance’ is recited at school every morning. It’s the type of patch I could use for assistance in stopping me from placing my hand directly on the iron to make sure it’s hot enough to use or giving Lucy and Ethel Oreos in bed. I could have used the ‘action-x’ patch yesterday while I was weed whacking the yard in sandals while looking up at the planes flying overheard or when I always think that a waitress uttering the phrase ‘careful, this plate is very hot,’ is a challenge instead of a warning. Perhaps the ‘action-x’ would have made me think twice before I placed the stool Lucy and Ethel use to wash their hands in their sink right next to the toilet. I say this because apparently when one is four-years-old and sleepy and needs to use the facilities in the middle of the night, squatting down to use a stool (wow, I don’t like the sound of that) feels the same as squatting on a toilet. What’s the only obvious difference you ask? The stool doesn’t flush. Lastly, I would use the ‘action-x’ patch prior to cruising around while blasting Ronnie Milsap. Actually maybe a patch to help me accurately gauge what is cool would be more appropriate here.

I feel I have barely scratched the surface of what patches I need. Actually, they probably make a patch for scratching the surface as well. I could use a patch to help me accept my hatred of Mondays, patches that would make my padded little cubicle feel cozy and warm and a patch that would help me be more tolerant. Don’t worry, I don’t suffer from racial, ethnic, age, class or lactose intolerance, mine is much more serious. I suffer from Gordon intolerance. I hate Jeff Gordon. This disease has alienated me from many people, although when I stop to think about it, if someone roots for Jeff Gordon, they have no place in my life. See, I was just intolerant again. Sorry, I recognize I need help and I’m pretty sure that is the first step in dealing with it, unless the first step is denial, which in that case, I have no idea what you’re talking about and leave me alone!

I guess I should hope for a patch that makes me a better worker but working better would mean working more and that wouldn’t be as much fun and then I would need a ‘happy patch’ to cope. Also, a patch that allows me to eat a meal without melted cheese on top would be nice, as would a patch that makes me respond to Lucy and Ethel in a way other than, ‘sure, do whatever you want, just as long as I can hear you and you don’t tell your Mommy.’

So, if you are a patch dependent person or are hoping they make a patch for that special reason (whatever that may be…and don’t feel you need to share it), I wish you a Happy ‘I Need A Patch For That Day.’ I know what you’re thinking…when will they make a patch for dealing with stupid holidays. Let’s hope never; it’s just too much fun celebrating the completely obscure. Although eventually, maybe I’ll get gifts for one of these days. Remember: lobsters or money.

BIG OLE FAVOR ASKING TIME: I am this Friday’s host for the Carnival of the Mundane (pronounced Carn-E-Vahl if you want to feel important). Mundane seems like a good fit for me, so I figured I’d give it a go. If you are willing to write something mundane about any aspect of summer (like Spring or Winter or sunshine or used needles on beaches or SPF numbers) on your blog Friday, please let me know and I’d be glad to link to it. Just email me and I’ll get you all the details. What I’m really saying here is: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING FOR ME…PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE. IF YOU DON’T HELP ME, I’LL NEED TO TAKE A PATCH TO DEAL WITH THE REJECTION.