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Dishevelment
is lifelong trait
by Delbert Trew
If
the "disheveled look" ever becomes fashionable, I could be a centerfold
model.
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Evidently,
I have a genetic defect in my makeup. As mother often stated, "Delbert
was born with dirty hands, cruddy ears, and his shirttail hanging
out." Maturity has given little relief as the problems still exist
today.
Psychiatrists might trace the problems back to 1933 when she had to
drape the crib with damp diapers to protect her newborn baby from
the rolling black dust storms of the Dust Bowl. Another contributing
factor might be that my father was my idol, who allowed me to follow
him as he worked, leaving me trailing along in his dust. Ingesting
this much dirt might have affected my body chemistry, creating a magnetic
field to attract additional dust.
I can vividly recall the embarrassment I suffered as a little boy
while sitting innocently in church praying for the sermon to end.
Mother placed an arm lock around my head, moistened her handkerchief
with spit, and cleaned my ears right there before God and everybody.
In fact, to get me to church in a presentable manner, my parents had
to follow a strict regimen. Dad dressed while mother dressed me. He
then held me in his arms, not allowing me to the floor while mother
dressed. She held me in her lap while traveling and at church or the
whole process would have to be redone.
Much of my early life occurred during the time of Saturday-night-only
baths. Each evening, as I prepared for bed, I was stripped and stood
on a chair at the sink and scrubbed until my skin became warm and
my ears hurt.
I believe I contributed to my mother never being bored, as she was
constantly retying my shoes, trying to flatten my cowlick, stuffing
in my shirttail, or wiping my nose.
No wonder she was totally exhausted at night and waited four years
before starting my little brother on his way.
Most family photographs show me with wrinkled britches and shirttail
flapping in the breeze. If the "disheveled look" ever becomes fashionable,
I could be a centerfold model.
I hear of people who sort their clothes occasionally, donating the
surplus to The Salvation Army. Ha! My clothing lasts one year at best
and is torn into grease rags.
I have three
kinds of apparel: worn, worn out and funeral.
I'm also experimenting on long tailed shirts with lead fishing weights
sewn onto the tail for weight. I'll let all you fellow disheveled
sufferers know how this scheme works out.
I read where many states are banning the use of cell telephones while
driving. I think I'll write state Sen. Teel Bivins, R-Amarillo, and
suggest they add an amendment to prevent wives from grabbing their
husband's head while traveling at 70 mph and wiping out their ears
with a Kleenex. |
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