Being a writer is tough sometimes, especially for me. I see and hear new topics daily, and I would love to write about all of them, but the problem is which to pick first.
Do I write about something ridiculous such as American politics that the rest of the world laughs at?
Should I write how the Russians somehow seeped themselves into controlling our election? I do have a faint memory of a tiny hologram Putin in my voting booth that pulled my hand to check off the correct candidate. Which was HRC, of course; but I battled back and cast my vote for the underdog as I usually do when I vote...Pat Paulson. I've voted Pat every year since I could vote, and he never seems to win.
As I pondered on my predicament, I decided to stop at the local Chinese food smorgasbord, not for a quick bite but to gluttonize myself to the extent that I could barely walk without exploding.
While I shoveled the fried rice, shrimp, sesame seed chicken, sweet and sour chicken, pea pods and beef, and just about everything else offered into my mouth from the heated, barely-enough-to-stop-food-poisoning pans, I was still stuck on what to write about.
The waitress brought me my receipt and the ever-popular fortune cookie. Now I don't know about you, but every single fortune cookie I have ever opened had a fortune of some sort in it that was usually true in some manner— it’s as if they wrote that little piece of paper using lead-based ink that leeches into the cookie causing cancer or brain damage if one consumes too much of it...just for me. Just keep in mind many of our politicians in this country live on Chinese food as evidenced by the conduct they exhibit.
My focus returned to the flavorless cookie in a plastic wrapping as my stomach screamed at me not to put anything else in it or it would make my fortune for that afternoon and night a miserable one.
I could barely contain my excitement wondering what true fortune this cookie would hold for me! Normally, I only felt this way when watching the last 3 minutes of a Friday afternoon soap opera television series. Will the hero die in the building that is completely consumed by fire? Will the heroine survive the 500 foot fall off a cliff into the surf pounding on the jagged rocks waiting below? Will Suzie still be a 2-year-old child on the following Monday or after a 2 day weekend turned into a grown, fully-figured scantily-clad woman?
The suspense was almost scandalous. No one should be this excited to open their fortune cookie.
I violently ripped the plastic bag apart and crushed the cookie's skin in my man-hands to get at the fortune. The bag and cookie gave me no battle. My eyes were turning red as the guy on Reefer Madness...I must read my fortune...NOW!
I opened the little piece of paper and tossed the decimated cookie aside. I reached for my glasses to read the wisdom that only the great gurus from the Sixties and early Seventies had evoked on their followers...and Phil Jackson on the Chicago Bulls players.
On the one side, it said my lucky numbers were 9, 13, 56,28,54,12. Ah HA— 13 is my lucky number! This was amazing! Once again it was true!
I took a deep breath like an Olympian getting ready to jump off a diving board. I turned the paper, and it read: "All the world may not love a lover, but they will be watching him."
I sat back stunned. Where was my fortune? What happened? Did I get the wrong cookie? This was not a fortune, but a warning. Look, I love to be with a woman. I enjoy their company. But I am concerned to think that there is a camera or other video equipment in my home that the whole world can see what goes on in my bedroom. I am very concerned about this and will break up with all the women I am seeing (in my dreams).
But I do have a dog.
I figured what to write about for my contribution to those that like to read my stuff.
I think it will be about hydroponic gardening and using worm waste as fertilizer.