Punfessions of a paronomasiac

My girlfriend, Gail, whom I re-met at a Jewish food festival, over stuffed cabbage, after a forty year hiatus (not from stuffed cabbage but from our friendship) is interesting to talk with. Even after forty years of desert wandering (in which she was on one side and I was on another, with Moses in the middle, up on the mountain, getting instructions on how we should live -not just Gail and I, but all of us), Gail still has the ability to say something to keep me pundering (that wasn’t a typo) about life.

The way our conversation started this time was -as usual- with laughter (about life) and then Gail commented about the volume of my creative thoughts (sweet of her) that come out of my mind….such as my mind is, we agreed.

I especially appreciated that compliment, because -being a little anxious about these things- I often worry people will think that what comes out of my mind is sometimes too much to understand in one sitting.

But, on good days, when I can catch myself, and remember the compliments, I talk myself out of that paranoia…or, when I worry myself into a state of annoyance, I can talk myself out of being parannoying…….ok….ok, they can’t all be gems. But you have to admit that pun wasn’t bad for someone who isn’t being paid, here, to be a punfessional.

Anyway I answered Gail’s compliment, by sending a quip to her that reads:

“Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes that would be boring.”

I added, that would also hurt your feet-not to mention (but that’s such a meaningless idiom, I’ll ignore it)- your whole body if you walked a mile in my shoes and they weren’t your size….but I digress….

The point of the quip was the punch line…..which reminds me of a very funny joke about punchlines….but I won’t tell it now so that I won’t lose you……see what I mean, about my mind always going in several directions?

Anyway….the punchline of the quip is:

“Spend thirty seconds in my head. That will freak you out!”

When I first saw the witticism, I thought it absolutely hit the mark of describing my mind. But, it also made me, painfully, aware that the upshot, of having to live with my mind, is a blessing and a curse….

I’m blessed that my brain continues to work but cursed that it doesn’t stop often enough to vegetate.

If I don’t stop long enough, it’s because I’m always anxious, about the pushing and shoving of my thoughts, crowding around in here. I try to calm the thoughts down by telling myself that there will be plenty of time for each of the thoughts to be heard without rushing. But do they listen? Rarely.

So with all of that cacophony (sometimes cacapunny….sorry, sometimes, when I see an opening, I can’t help myself) going on inside of here, I think that if I don’t jot my thoughts down (as just a note or a paragraph) immediately-if not sooner- I’ll forget them (at best) or my mind will go to mush (at worst).

I especially like to write down humorous thoughts, tied to something serious, because those thoughts make the serious situations easier to swallow. But I file away serious thoughts too. Even so, there are always more humorous and serious thoughts coming down the pike, sometimes going into detours of jokes or other kinds of connections, before they can get back on the main road to publication (or perdition….the Jewish variety….and, sometimes, unfortunately, probably both).

So, back to the quip about my mind…..after Gail received it, she shot back with:

“That epitomizes you to a T. Perfect description….It should be written on your tombstone!”

I told her that probably she should give that as a eulogy at my fun-eral. She like the pun, but asked if I had plans of dying. I answered, not any time soon, or that I know of, but that since my son says, “No one is getting out of here alive!”, I figure that I have to at least look at the situation. And, being sensitive to the fact that we’re all very busy people, if I get wind of the date, ahead of time, I’ll let her and the dearly invited know. That way we can all put the date in our phones to coordinate. If it’s a surprise, that’s all the better, because then no one will have to be maudlin beforehand.

I also suggested to Gail that since she’s so great at entertaining, she needs to be in charge of catering, to make sure that everyone celebrates with champagne and different kinds of frosting (forget the cinnamon rolls or cakes…let’s get right to the top of things).

I added that she might want to say something, as a closer (being a compulsive neurotic, I feel as if I may need to direct this production) to the effect that, by my having died (even though it’s an inconvenience to my schedule) at last, and at least, I’ll be getting a much needed rest.

The only problem I see in those plans is that I really don’t want to attend, because I’ll miss the festivities. If I know ahead of time maybe I can head it off and -speaking of heads- say that I have to wash my hair that day.

These life and death choices are such difficult punundrums (no typo here…move along, folks) to think on….

Siri and I often have interesting conversations, except when I get frustrated with her denseness in understanding my questions and I swear. Then she always comes up with the same goody two shoes answer (bringing the subject around to shoes again…as women know, in it’s always about the shoes): “I’m not going to respond to that!”

Speaking of shoo-ing away a subject (even I can see that this is scraping puns off of the bottom of my shoes) when I ask Siri what kind of shoes she wears, she answers that she doesn’t understand the question. I think she does and is just too embarrassed to say Goody Two.

To prove to you that Siri doesn’t understand subjects from shoes, or s#%* from Shinola (which for those of you under 200 years old, the saying is that old, and Shinola was a shoe polish…so you have to admit that the shoe fits here…that word play was a shoe in….I think I’m going to be sick), when I asked Siri if there’s a word for punning or semantically playing with words, she tried to bluff her way to wisdom, to tell me that it was paronomasia…

Yeah…right!! I had never heard of that word before she puntificated (not a misspelling) about it; and to tell you the truth, I don’t think she knows any more about the subject than she does about her shoes.

I may have a crowded mind, but I think that paronomasia sounds like a serious disease.

And I swear (not at Siri, but as an exclamatory oath):

I have never had sex with that President (and I wouldn’t want to because, when he used OUR Oval Office as an oral orgy orifice he showed us that his character sucks as much as….) and I am not a hypochondriac, Senator.

Do you see what I mean about detours?

Given those kinds of oaths, in the United States Senate, as a guide, I now swear that with paronomasia as a disease, I’m in it’s full blown stages, and I probably caught it from living in a colony of others who have had it or have it now.

Plus, as far as I can tell about my adult children and grandchildren, we’re all carriers and terribly contagious. Even with safe social distancing, I think you might be able to appreciate that, the condition can be worse during a pundemic.

That said, I hope any scientists, who might take this declaration of disease seriously, never find a vaccine.

About the Author
The author is a Common-Tater, which, when spoken aloud, is a very professional sounding title, for a Mrs. Potato Head. But from the spelling of the title, you can see that, when the author comments on life, she tries to keep a sense of humor in the mix, or in the potato salad, if you will, to try and spice up the spuds. Mrs. Potato Head, also a coffee slut, as you can see from the background behind her photo, lives in the U.S. and has had various careers, in alternative lives, as a teacher, social worker, lawyer, serious and humorous radio show writer, producer, performer and currently as a video humorist and writer. Although, the age of an eleven year old dog (actually a bitch, but we won’t go there), she remains as active as a pup.
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