Debbie

Debbie: (n) a female given name.

As she skipped her way into a small frat house at Cincinnati Bible Seminary, to sit around in a tiny room with about fifteen other post-high-school strangers, to listen to imitation-hippie-music with a Christian twist, she illuminated the whole surroundings with her smile, which foretold of just a pinch of naughtiness.

She never made you work hard to feel appreciated.

I don’t think she ever met a man she didn’t like.

She wasn’t easy—just uncomplicated.

She loved to laugh.

She thrived on flirting.

And she sang like singing was second nature to her soul.

I had come to the gathering that night to find a vocalist for my up-and-coming band, and by the end of the evening I left with Debbie as my new cohort.

I traveled with her for almost three years. We threatened to become romantic, whispered promises—and we sang great music.

With my tunes, her voice and our buddy, we went all over the United States, appearing on national television, hitting the religious charts and getting to sing a song on the Grand Ole’ Opry.

She has remained my friend throughout the journey.

Even though we will never recapture those thirty-six months of music and magic, we maintain a deep-rooted friendship.

I doubt if she will ever read this.

But I know if she did, she would concur.

And oh—by the way—one of my fondest memories as a young man is the first day that she arrived poolside, wearing a bikini.

She had amazing lungs.

Crust

Crust: (v) to form something into a crust.

If all the weird revelations about ourselves would come to the forefront in a single day, we would be so shocked that we might literally roll up in a ball and die.

(Well, it could happen.)

Not so long ago, poolside at a motel, I finished going for a swim.

The sun was shining perfectly—enough to give me a little bit of glow on my face. I was self-satisfied with the little workout I had done in the pool, where I had moved around just short of becoming out of breath.

I also had been recently dieting, so I was very enamored with myself—because I could cross my legs—legs which previously had refused all notions of intertwining.

So sitting there in a pool chair with my legs crossed, I reached down with my hand and rubbed my heel.

To my astonishment, three or four fingers-full of white, dry, dead skin fell off.

It apparently had been there for some time—crusty, like an old miner from the California gold rush.

Loosened by the swim, it was now prepared to identify itself as dead, leave my body, and return to the Earth from whence it came.

I was simultaneously grossed out and intrigued by my skin-rubbing and droppage.

I kept doing it over and over again and more and more skin kept falling off. It wasn’t ugly—it was pure white. But it just kept coming. Or better phrased, going.

I moved up my leg a little more, to my calf, and sure enough—there was more discard.

I became so engrossed in this gross activity that I failed to notice there were three or four people poolside who had turned into an uninvited (and by the looks on their faces) unappreciative audience.

So much dead, crusty skin fell off my feet through this exercise that there was a little pile.

Once I realized I was being observed by the masses, I quickly uncrossed my legs and shuffled my feet around, trying to distribute my skin flakes throughout the grass.

For some reason, my audience found this even sicker.

One lady got up and moved, shaking her head. She had finally found the worst thing she had ever seen in her life. And she was so young and innocent…

But even though I realized what I was doing was not pleasant to those around me, since I was staying at a motel in a strange town and nobody knew me, I persisted.

Aye—the rub.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


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