The Word Ends with an Itch

After emerging from the hot tub at the condo on

a cool, rainy day in Phoenix, he tossed his wet

swim suit into the drier, put on shorts, a top and

slippers, gathered the recyclables together and

headed downstairs, dog in tow. On the way, he was

cut off by an older model Jeep. The woman threw it into

park, jumped out, ran to the other side and gathered up

two cardboard boxes.  She dumped them in the dumpster

marked for garbage. As she headed back to the Jeep,

he said to her, “Those are recyclable and that dumpster

is over here. It’s green.” She actually took the time to say

that there was stuff in the bottom of the boxes that couldn’t

be recycled. He wondered quickly if that utterance was

to justify her rapid journey to the garbage dumpster instead

of the recycle dumpster.  He said that stuff could

be separated and put in the garbage dumpster and the

boxes could be recycled. She jumped in the Jeep and

tried to turn the corner but couldn’t make it around.

She had to back up. Her windows were shut

but he shouted with his best pulpit voice, “Hey, be

careful.  My dog and I are right behind you.”  She

threw it into drive and continued around the fountain,

heading for the exit.  He called after her, “Hey, slow

down. Smell the flowers. Smell the creosote after the

rain.” Brake lights came on. Window came down and

she shouted, “Mind your own business.”  She rolled up

the window and took off.  He shouted as she made it

out of the complex, “Hey, it is my business and your

business and everybody’s business.  This is your land

and  my land and everybody’s land.  This is our air and

our water and our mountains of garbage choking the life

out of our earth.”  And then he yelled something that

broke his New Year’s resolution to suffer fools gladly.

He shouted a word that begins with capital “B” and ends with

“itch.”  His dog pulled against the leash.  The dog had heard

that voice before and didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

The man looked at the dog, said, “Okay, let’s go,” in

a much softer tone.

1 thought on “The Word Ends with an Itch

  1. Okay, Mr. One Mean Hombre…did you pluck out the recyclables? Mr. W claims that at my condo, they all go to the same place (garbage) so I resort to re-sorting all the time, tho not UP here which I will leave shortly (but not burn The Bridge when I cross it, for I love driving its one-lane plus perpetual construction lane too much…tis quite the structure.Pure Michigan site has it all captured in all weather. That’s fyi. By the time you read this, the electors will be picking….)

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