You nice people probably wouldn’t have a problem. Your first reaction to any situation is invariably positive, wholesome and, if need be, sympathetic. I can’t help but compare your positivity and goodness with my own sarcasm and downright uncharitable nature.
If someone tells a nice person that Aunt Jill has passed away, he coos something like, “Poor thing! She’s with the Lord now.”
When I’m told the same thing, my first thought is “How can you tell?” or “Not surprised, since she’s been saying she’s dying for 50 years.”
I don’t say those things aloud — anymore. Instead I mumble something like, “Poor thing. She’s with the Lord now.”
Telepathic aliens would nail me to the wall for the things I don’t say. (Unless they had taken the time to get to know Aunt Jill, that is.)
I have a young friend, Paula, who is so nice that probably her first, unexpressed thought is actually nicer than what she comes out and says. I think she censors herself the other way, probably because people in the past have suspected sarcasm where there was none. She always find the good in people, looks on the bright side, turns the other cheek and blah blah blah. I’ve tried to get her depressed and cynical about the world, but it never takes.
Mind-reading aliens could be a little dangerous. The last thing I need is a little green guy named Skirzuk following me into Walmart and telling everybody what I really think of them.
He’d point at a woman and say, “You’re wearing pajama pants? In a store? What happened, did you accidentally sleep in your dress clothes?” He’d point at a guy and say, “That dude’s balder than I am, and that rug ain’t fooling anybody. Get a hat, you loser.”
That would get me beat up a lot. What’s worse, when the people came to beat me up, Skirzuk would tell them that despite my impressive defensive posture, I don’t really know kung fu.
Eventually, the world might be a better place with Skirzuk and his intergalactic cronies running around. They say honesty is the best policy. We might get to a point where we no longer need Skirzuk’s clan. Folks would just say what was on their minds naturally without considering the consequences, like I assume monkeys must do. I have never had a monkey try to spare my feelings.
I’m guessing a lot of our leaders wouldn’t get re-elected, but the tar and feathers industries might experience a boom, and that means jobs, jobs, jobs!
***
Joyce and I have a new grandson on the way, and we’re coming up with potential names. The last name starts with a “Z,” so we’re all coming up with “Z” first names (I’m not sure why). My submission, “Zebulon,” has been rejected, but that’s no big deal, since the primary role of the step-grandfather is to dub the poor child with a nickname that sticks despite the wishes of the unfortunate parents.
I pointed out to Joyce that the little guy is going to have the initials, “Z.Z.,” which could prove very funny should he ever suffer from narcolepsy.
You have to be careful with the initials when you’re working with a “Z.” You can’t name him “Edward” or “Ethan,” because if he grows up to be a little gullible everyone will call him “EZ.” Likewise, you can’t name him “Ken” or “Keith,” because if he marches to the beat of a different drummer, people will laugh and say he’s “KZ.”
“Ulysses” is out, unless you want Homeland Security watching “Uzi” all his life.
I think anything starting with an “F” or “S” is safe, but I have to think about it some more.
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