This morning Diane called me a Weeble when she warned the dog to look out because I was wobbling around a bit in order to position myself to give Panzee a belly rub with my foot. Yes, I wobble, which is not a surprise to many people, just to those who fleetingly viewed me as a solid, stand up citizen. No, I’m not one of those. I’m a citizen, true, and I stand up for our flag, but I’m far from solid.
I sway in a gentle breeze, turning to the left, mostly, but also to the right, if the wind is right, causing Diane less and less concern as she gets used to my new abilities related to vertical acuity, and not embarrassing her by falling in public. I’ve only done that once, but cannot remember the occasion because it was insignificant. A mere blip on my radar that went mostly unnoticed be everyone except the girl who screamed.
Calling me a Weeble makes me wonder if there is more to the name than a quick look could ascertain. Everyone knows what a Weeble is, right? You know, “Weebles Wobble But They Don’t Fall Down”? Remember that? Everyone had to have them because they were so cute, and they couldn’t be knocked over.
However, after being compared to one this morning, the name has been circling in my head wondering if there is an underlying meaning to her comparison. Just a moment ago I realized that she’s making a reference to my less than adequate sized testicles. What she’s really saying is wee balls. That’s got to be it. I’ll confront her in a couple of weeks about her underhanded name calling, if I remember. Or, perhaps within a few moments of her reading this, as I know she will.
In my youth, I was able to walk straight down that thin, well-defined line of decorum, never causing anyone on either side grief, or dismay about what I said or did. With Diane’s back-handed reference comparing me to a Weeble one might think, on the surface, that she’s concerned about me straddling the line, more than walking it, due to the increasing wobble in my gait as age overtakes me, and my brain isn’t quick enough to interpret my balance correctly causing it to over correct. It’s like the cruise control in Diane’s Buick that works just fine until a hill appears, then the vehicle slows down from 55 to 50, then shifts and speeds up to 60+ before settling back down to 55 just before the hill is crested. Doing that causes problems for everyone on both sides of the line defined specifically for me, for my passage through this life.
No, it’s not about that at all. It’s all about the size of one’s testicles. I’m sure.
That’s all I got for now. Later we’re going to Portland to have lunch with some southern relatives, Diane’s side, from Arizona – Julie, Duncan, and Jake. We’ll also get to see Bill, Carolyn, Terri, and Lisa. We’re eating Italian at Nona Whats-its-place in Beaverton.
Now I’m going to stop, get a mirror, and contemplate my Weebles.