COUNTY AGENT GUY
No matter how good a person you may think you are – even if you are certain that your personal qualities would make Mother Teresa look like Paris Hilton – you could probably use some improvement.
At least that’s the gist of the message that’s incessantly hammered into our skulls by the media. We are constantly being told that we don’t measure up, but not to worry, there’s a pill for every ill.
Whatever your shortfall, there’s a medication for it.
Can’t sleep? We have a pill for that. Are your nose hairs too curly? Take this tablet. You want to sit on a beach in twin bathtubs with your spouse? We can help you with that. But call your doctor if you’re still in the tub four hours later.
There’s a wedding on the horizon in our family. My wife believes that being involved in a wedding means that we must, by federal law, dance.
She insists that I dance with her despite decades’ worth of evidence that I have zero rhythm and a level of coordination that can’t be quantified unless you’re allowed to use negative numbers.
The other night my wife put on some music and pulled me up out of my recliner.
“Come on,” she said, “Let’s dance. We need to practice.”
“Practicing implies honing a skill,” I replied. “I don’t have any dancing skills, so there’s nothing to practice.”
But she was insistent, so we shuffled randomly across the living room floor. To an outside observer, it must have looked as if we were engaged in a game of “Ouch, that’s my toe.”
“One, two,” she instructed. “Really, that’s all there is to a two-step!”
“This is too hard,” I lamented. “Why can’t I just take a pill that would make me move like Fred Astaire?
“The last time I did any serious dancing was when a cow stepped on my tootsies. And I don’t want to go through that again.”
My wife agreed. “I don’t think any doctor would deny you a prescription for Twoleftfeetrin,” she said.
Which got me to thinking. There is a huge market for medications that would address some of mankind’s most annoying afflictions. Some of these could include:
- Quitblockingtheaisletor. We have all encountered people who are in dire need of this drug. They dawdle in the middle of the aisle, their shopping carts blocking the way for all of humanity. They are oblivious to the fact that they have plugged up a passageway that could, in theory, accommodate a diesel locomotive.
As they stand there leisurely studying the fine print on labels, you want to scream, “Quit blocking the aisle.” Of course this is not socially acceptable, so we grit our teeth in silence. No wonder our national dental bill is so high.
- A similar drug would be Getamoveonyouidiotol. This is for folks who take their own sweet time when they are doing such things as mailing packages at the post office or placing an order in a fast food restaurant. You want to yell at them, “Get a move on, you idiot,” but you can’t because we have been taught to quietly and patiently wait our turns.
Once, while standing in line at a coffee shop, the couple ahead of me got engaged, said their vows, had a couple of children and filed for divorce while the dunderhead at the front of the line pondered grande versus venti, foam or no foam, organic fair trade beans that had been picked by red-headed virgins or regular organic, and so on. Imagine how much faster things would have gone if he had simply popped a pill.
- Wheretheheckaremyglassesium. Here’s a medicine that would win universal acclaim among us aging Baby Boomers. People my age are constantly misplacing items such as our glasses (they were on the nightstand, right where I left them), the TV remote (finally found it in the fridge) and the car keys (after searching for an hour, discovered that they were still in the ignition). This is why folks over 50 shouldn’t have babies: we would soon forget where we had left the infant.
- Hereforine. Perhaps this would be the most essential drug the pharmaceutical industry needs to develop. Such a substance would cure one of mankind’s most common maladies, the Here For syndrome. This is the feeling that comes over you when you walk into a room and wonder “What did I come in here for?” Maybe that squalling infant is a clue.
In conclusion, I hope that the pharmaceutical industry brings these compounds to the market soon. Because not only can’t I dance, I don’t recall where I put my memory pills.
Nelson is a freelance writer from Volga, S.D. Reach him by e-mail at email@example.com.
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