( 2 / 7 / 2018 )      

Yesterday, I was sitting in my cardiologist’s office in Oklahoma City waiting to see the doctor. There were only two of us waiting, me and a black lady sitting next to me. For all intents and purposes she looked like a fairly normal person. I was reading an Ebony magazine. Why? Because it was there. After a bit, the lady turned to me and said, “You look good.”

If if you know me at all, I’m sure you’ll know I’m telling you the truth when I say that I have never had anybody say that to me before. So, of course, I didn’t have any idea what to say back. What I almost said was, ”What’s wrong with you?” What I would have meant by asking that was that I thought maybe she thought she was in the office of a psychiatrist rather than a cardiologist. Then I thought to myself “Hey, wait a minute — maybe, just maybe, she’s in her right mind, and I’m just misunderstanding what she said."

So I looked at her and asked, “When you say ‘I look good’, do you mean I look kind of healthy?”

She said, “I just said ‘You look good’.” This, of course, did nothing to clear up the mystery for me. It only added to my confusion.

So I then said, “It’s cause I’m black, isn’t it?”

She said “But you’re not black.”

I said, “Oh, yeah, well uh? Well, then what did you mean?”

She then asked me “What’s wrong with you? Are you stupid?”

I said, “I think so.”

And then I got up, picked up my Ebony magazine (I had been right in the middle of an article) and left. I can see this cardiologist some other time. On the way out, I said “Those shoes you’ve got on are really pretty.”

See, I had finally figured it all out — she had tried to tell me how really good I did look. She was using the word ‘good’ like you would say ‘great’ or ‘spectacular’ or ‘wonderful’. But then I had hurt her feelings by questioning her judgment. So then I had to think  up a compliment for her — and  my mom  had

always told me you compliment a woman by telling her she has pretty shoes.

Then, a couple of days later, it almost happened again. I was walking into the local YMCA when the young girl behind the desk said, “Hello Wendell. Did you get a haircut?”

I said, “No. Why do you ask?”

She said, “Because it looks so good.” No, she didn’t say that, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she meant. (What she really said was “Just because.”)

I said, “Yeah, I know it looks good, because people tell me that all the time.”

This is getting to be a habit, and it gives me pause for thought. Maybe the black lady was right all along — right from the start. I know I’m getting old and decrepit, and I’m missing a few (maybe several) teeth, but I’ve probably looked a lot better all along than I thought.

It reminded me of something that happened one morning a few days ago. I usually wear t-shirts, and I wear the kind that have a pocket. Since I don’t have the usual allotment of fingernails (biting, you know) I require a pocket for my ever-present little green screwdriver.  ( I use the screwdriver for things other men use their fingernails for. )  It’s also true that my T-shirts are two-toned because the God-damned Chinese can’t make t-shirts for Walmart that will hold their color through months of my evening water aerobics classes.

So, after I pulled my t-shirt on that morning, I looked down for my pocket and realized it wasn’t there; I had put my shirt on backwards.  I thought, “Oh, what the hell” and I decided to just go ahead and wear it that way — until, that is, my wife saw it.

Well, anyway, let’s just say that I know I could look a little more presentable most of the time, but now I realize that maybe all along, I’ve looked a lot better than I thought. Maybe I do need to straighten up and make myself ready to “do my little turn on the catwalk;  yeah, the catwalk.”

    Wendell’s Fancy Pageant Walking