The Little Men

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I'm not sure when it started. Perhaps it was a touching story between mother and son as Mom tried to comfort me from overcoming an illness, but I've always believed that there are a crew of little men, on the inside, taking care of repairs.

When I was young they were most likely very caring and hardworking. As I grew to adulthood, however, they have become a little less patient.

You see, the problem started in college when I used to talk to them about putting out the various brush fires going on after a rough night of drinking.

"Send water down!" one of the foremen, Bada, used to yell. His partner Bing would help him distribute the pails of water.

I spoke a lot with these little men on rehydration day.

As I've said, through the years the relationship has deteriorated. Bada and Bing are both weary and the little men that work for them don't move quite as quickly these days.

Early adulthood wore them out.

"Oh Shit! It's pasta! Get the wheelbarrows!!" I overhead Bada say one day.

"What are we gonna' do with all of it?" Bing would ask each Sunday.

"What can we do? Expand the walls!!!"

And so it has continued.

I tried to summon up the men this week as I battled my illness.

Apparently they are on my beautiful wife's side of things.

"She wants him to go to Immediate Care for medications," Bing said. "Fatty moron pants won't go."

"He's too tired," Bada said, laughing uproariously.

"No, no, He's too FABULOUS!" Bing laughed right back.

"He's not sick," Bada roared, "He's just an idiot!"

"Shh, shh!" Bing said. "He's at the doctors! Look! There are pills coming down!"

"Run and get 'em," Bada said. "We gotta' crush 'em and distribute them. First his mommy and now his wife."

"Why do people keep bailing this moron out?"

"Beats me."

"You know what's the worst part?" Bada asked. "Now he's gonna' feel better and it's Sunday."

"We're gonna' flatten the tires on the wheelbarrows again."

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