Not another worm in . . .

If you occasionally say stupid things, then today’s essay is for you. Stop reading now if your every utterance has been brilliant.

Right. All still here, I see.

There once was a lad, age 12ish, in a little town called Raymond. The boy went digging in the yard for earthworms – and found none. He then tromped into the house, peevish frustration trailing him like a shadow.

The boy should have walked by his family sitting around the dining room table.

But. He. Spoke.

“There’s not another worm in Raymond.”

Except the words came out more like “THERE’S NOT ANOTHER WORM IN RAYMOND.” Not loud. D-r-a-m-a-t-i-c, like a bad actor playing the villain in a campy melodrama.

And thus did six words tie themselves to the lad. For decades since, the boy-now-man’s every mildly declarative statement offered with any smidgen of energy has summoned a mocking response from his family:

“There’s not another worm in Raymond.”

Even his wife deploys the phrase, as she did today. She wasn’t in Raymond that day!

The obvious lesson? Never introduce your spouse to family.