Saturday, January 23, 2016
The Doodie Gloves
Another random tale from days of yore....
I was in third grade, at Druid Hills Elementary — I'm reckoning fall of 1967. One of my young friends, whom I suppose I ought not name, as he is still alive and kicking, came into class one day wearing a look of marvel on his face, as if the heavens had opened up and revealed all of God's deepest secrets. After a while, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a dime, which he showed me.
"I swallowed this dime last night," he said.
"It seemed like the thing to do at the time."
"But you're holding it."
"Yep." He beamed at me. "I got it back this morning."
"When my mom checked my doodie, it was in there."
"IT WAS IN YOUR DOODIE?"
"Yep. But it was okay, my mom just put on her doodie gloves and got the dime back for me."
"You know, for checking your doodie in the morning."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Doesn't your mom check your doodie every morning?"
"She doesn't have a pair of doodie gloves?"
He looked a little crestfallen. "I thought everyone's mom had doodie gloves."
"I don't think so."
"How does your mom know if you have a healthy diet?"
"Because she feeds me."
He offered me the dime, but I didn't take it.