I wrote a foolish sentence. It was one of many in last week’s essay but was more foolish than the others.
It appeared in a satire of recent executive orders. Styling myself as Chief Guy in Charge of Everything Everywhere Always, I offered better orders.
Like commanding clouds to make unicorns in the sky.
Here, again, is that most foolish sentence: “My wife must bring breakfast to me in bed every morning and genuflect when leaving.”
I heard from some of you. As in:
“That’s not happening, you ding-a-ling.”
“Are you nuts?!”
Y’all weren’t wrong. Her response:
“I would bring you breakfast in bed.”
Long pause.
“But not when you get up.”
I’m early to bed and usually up by 6 a.m. She’s … not.
Translation: I’d serve you breakfast in bed. If you got up when not-crazy people get up. Sorry!
Notice her rhetorical trick: a sideways “maybe” that delivers a thudding “hell no.”
As if I’d asked for moon rocks on pizza.
“What? Do you mean actual rocks from the moon? Sure.”
Long pause.
“When you get some!”
