Should I suddenly turn up
missing, I’m hoping the police will consider my wife the prime suspect. Mrs.Taylor (formerly Lori Frankforter) hasn’t actually made any threats against my
life. But I’m worried just the same. Because of a catalog that arrived in
yesterday’s mail.
It’s from a company I’ve never
heard of, because I’ve never been a Navy Seal wannabe. The catalog is filled
with stuff – mostly knives of one sort or another – designed to kill someone
quickly and quietly.
The remainder of the proffered
merchandise includes military-style shovels (to help hide the body, I’m
guessing), battery powered short wave radios (to determine when the heat is off
and it’s safe to leave your Unabomber cabin in the woods, throwing stars (in case
you’re attacked by ninjas) and Coleman lanterns (to light your workspace while
making plans to overthrow the government).
There’s also a large assortment
of rapiers, cutlasses, sabers, foils, bokkens, hook swords and various other
lethal-looking, but cheaply-made blades that look good over the fireplace but
are only going to get you shot if you ever try to use one to avoid being
mugged.
The catalog even offers “elven
blades,” similar to those used in “The Lord of the Rings” movies. I assume
these are sold mostly to folks worried about the influx of trolls and orcs sure
to swarm over our borders if we don’t get that wall built between here and the
Land of Make Believe.
Mrs. T (fLF) has assured me
repeatedly she does not intend to murder me, even if I leave my shoes in the
middle of the living room floor again. But I’m guessing she said the same thing
to her ex-husbands. I’ve never met them. They don’t call, they don’t write. In
fact, nobody mentions them at all.
I’m not saying those bumpy spots
in the back yard are of anything other than natural origin, but at this point I
can hardly be blamed for wondering.
At any rate, I haven’t lived this
long by taking a laissez-faire approach
when it comes to my own self-preservation. I’m proactive, baby! For better or
worse, I value my wide butt and will do whatever it takes to continue my mostly
pointless existence.
This includes self-defense, if
necessary.
Fortunately, I have a catalog for
that. Mrs. T (fLF) isn’t the only one who can arm herself to the teeth one
credit card order at a time.
I think my best bet lies in the
“1-Million-Volt Stun Gun Cane.” Regular readers of this column (Hi, Dave!)
already know I broke my leg about a year ago and the doctor botched the
surgery; since then, I walk with a cane.
I was down on the whole cane idea
at first. I mean, I’m relatively young (compared to some giant sea turtles). I
wasn’t keen on being spotted around town hobbling over a walking stick like
some minor character from a Dicken’s novel. However, Mrs. T (fLF) assured me I
could “own it” and make the cane seem cool.
She was lying, of course, but for
all the right reasons. Point is, I got used to using a cane. I quickly realized
that – rather than making me feel frail and old – holding a hefty piece of wood
in my hand (no puns, please!) gave me a feeling of invincibility. I have no
doubt I could get a lot of self-defense mileage out of even a regular cane if
it came down to it.
But armed with the “1-Million-Volt
Stun Gun Cane” offered in the catalog? Well, hell, my enemies would be dropping
like flies! And probably a few friends, too. The temptation would just be too
great.
At $92.99, the “1-Million-Volt
Stun Gun Cane” costs double what I’ve paid for any of my other canes (I already
have a collection: tres chic). I’m
getting it anyway.
Oh, Mrs. T (fLF) is probably telling the truth when she says
she won’t kill me if I leave my shoes in the living room. Then again, I’ve seen
the look in her eyes. And there’s that catalog. And the lumps in the yard.
What can I say? Better safe than
sorry.
(616) 730-1414
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