Tag Archives: chest

Cover

Cover: (v) to place something over or upon, as for protection, concealment, or warmth.

 “I’ll be fine.”

This is what I said to my hostess when she asked me if I might need a blanket. In that moment, I felt that I might be bothering her too much by requesting one—and the room seemed to be a really good temperature and I thought I could lay on the bed without the need of any kind of cover. funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

After all, I was just going to sleep. How much do you really need to protect you when you’re just heading for Sleeper Land?

She gave me a quizzical look when I refused additional “warmage,” as if to question my judgment on the matter, but wanting to be an ideal lady of the house, she honored my wishes, left the room and disappeared into her home, which was an unknown castle to me.

I brushed my teeth, I went to bed, and as I reached over to turn off the lamp on the nearby stand, I realized that I didn’t have a cover.

It was my fault. I had explained that I didn’t need one—but now that I was in my room and darkness was falling around me, I wanted a cover.

I nearly cried.

I didn’t know the house well enough to creep around looking in cabinets, searching for blankets, so I lay on the bed, very still, trying to convince myself that I would be content without being embraced by my cover.

I do not want to be overly dramatic…

Yes, I do. It was hell.

I found I could not sleep without having something over me. I felt naked, even though I was wearing pajamas. My shoulders were hanging out there to be seen by the night spirits, without apology. My legs were lonely.

I did not know what to do. I wanted to sleep but that didn’t seem covered.

So I got up, opened up my suitcase, began to pull out all my clothing, and tied pant legs onto shirt arms, with attached socks, until I eventually put together a really weird quilt.

It worked so well that after experimenting on four or five different combinations, I had everything covered, from my toes up to my chest.

I felt powerful again.

Yet as I lay down to go to sleep, I realized the top of my chest was unsheltered. Not wanting to get up to disrupt my makeshift blanket, I reached down into my suitcase, grabbed a pair of underwear and stuffed them under my chin.

At last…

Thank God Almighty.

Covered at last.

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Chest

Chest: (n) the front surface of a person’s or animal’s body

I’m always amused when people take credit for having beauty or they are depressed over some perceived ugliness. Did we have any choice?

Since there’s no genetically engineered children, all of us basically came out of the gene pool. Some of us got a towel and some didn’t.

That’s just how it works. This is what I thought of when I saw the word “chest.”

When I was a young man of seventeen, convinced of my maturity, I took a look at my chest. Where it was supposed to be muscular, it was a bit droopy and fat, threatening the appearance of small titties. My nipples didn’t harden to my satisfaction. Sometimes they just laid there, soft and full, with springtime promise.

And the main problem was that I had absolutely no hair. Today that’s considered a good thing, but when I was growing up, men had hair on their chest and women did not–and for some reason, women liked hair on a man’s chest.

I dreamed of a day when my chest would be much larger than my waist. (That’s the goal.) I’ve never achieved that.

So as I sit here and breathe today, I am extraordinarily grateful that I have found women over the years who have overlooked my soft, white, puffy, marshmallow chest area and have compensated in their minds by the fact that I’m conversational…and I know how to tip a waitress.

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Angina

dictionary with letter A

Angina: (n) a condition marked by severe pain in the chest, often also spreading to the shoulders, arms and neck, caused by an inadequate blood supply to the heart.

I am about to show my true silly soul. It isn’t like it’s the first time. Yet my giggly tale is my particular reference on this word.

About seven years ago I went to an appointment with a cardiologist to have my heart checked. They do that kind of thing when you’re fat and they think you’re gonna explode.

I had basically been given a fairly good report and was sitting in the waiting room when another gentleman came and sat down next to me.

He immediately started chatting freely and was boisterous and filled with stories. I listened carefully because I felt maybe there was some false bravado, covering up his nerves about being in the inner sanctum of a heart doctor.

A few minutes later the cardiologist came out and asked the gent next to me to come back for a consultation. My friend, feeling his oats and comfortable with me, said, “Come on, doc. You can talk in front of him. Give me the news.”

Even though the medicine man, being very professional, was a bit nervous to proffer the report, he obliged. He said, “Sir, it seems you have angina.”

My buddy crinkled his brow. And then a big smile came across his face. He reached up, lightly punched the doctor in the arm, and laughingly replied, “Come on, doc. You almost got me, there. Angina?? You know I’ve got a penis.”

 

 

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Amorphous

dictionary with letter A

Amorphous: (adj.) without a clearly defined shape or form.

That’s me.

I found a word that describes my physicality.

I have pretty big feet, strong legs, an ever-present belly, a plump chest and a head that is somewhere between a regal Roman senator and a troll.

There you go.

Now I have a word for it. But the trouble with such words is that if you use them in public and have to explain them, you come across really annoying.

So I guess I’m just stuck calling myself by my name, and letting it be associated with my visage.

We spend an awful lot of time worrying about body image, when all being accomplished, the most important thing we can do in life … is be interesting.

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix