When it comes to divisive topics like religion, politics and work, in my blog, I keep my opinions to myself. It just seems stupid to annoy and alienate when my goal is to entertain and amuse not get people mad at me. That is also why I do NOT typically discuss my Wife. It would be stupid to share her personal life details or make Dawn the butt of my bad jokes. Our Dog’s house is nice but I don’t want to live in it.
Of course, last week I did earn a poke in my ribs from her by posting the old oft-repeated joke ‘since my wife sleeps with her back to me, I always wake up at the crack of Dawn.’ And I guess maybe I just proved I am a bit stupid since I said it again. I get why that annoys her. Her whole life she has heard crap like that or Delta Dawn or when she gets up at 6:00 AM its by ‘Dawn’s early light’. I get it. At least my beautiful wife is named after an equally beautiful part of the day (note the subtle complementary segue). It’s better than being named Dusk or, what I likely will be called after she reads this, Mud.
I really do understand how she feels, I was constantly teased too. When I was real little there were not a lot of kids in my neighborhood of similar age. When a group of them started calling me Danny Doorbell, I got annoyed. Not really from the taunts but because it is such an incredibly inane name. What the hell does Danny Doorbell even mean? I was used to being made fun of, I had four older siblings. And for a brat like me, any attention was better than no attention. My issue was I thought I deserved a much more creative moniker. Doofus Dan, Daniel Dingleberry or Doody-Face Danny all would have been far less lame.
While the kids my age were busy Danny Doorbelling me, the older kids usually just ignored me. The times I was noticed, it was not pretty. It was New York and I was a stupid defenseless dork, obviously I was used to being harassed. I think I still have the mental and physical scars from those dodgeball games with the older kids at Boy Scout meetings. Another time I recall being slapped in the head and called a synonym for a cat simply because I crossed my legs at the ankles. If I did not have a clue what the cool sneakers were, how the hell was I to know the masculinity factor of a lower leg cross?
One day while walking to the park, a bunch of guys driving by in a car hit me with a half full cup of melted ice cream. Who throws ice cream out of moving car? Even worse, who actually gets hit by ice cream thrown from a moving car? Apparently, stupid little Danny Doorbell did.
On Halloween one year, the cranky old lady down the street poured a pot of water on my head from an upstairs window. Sure, my older siblings that I was Tricks Or Treating with might have harassed her for years, but what did I do? I was a little kid in a dumb clown costume too stupid to get out of the way of a flying bucket o’ water. Street smarts are learned and at that point I obviously had none.
When I was a little bit older, barely passed the trick or treating age, my friend Johnny and I decided we were going to be like the big kids and throw eggs on Halloween. That’s what big kids do, right? I mean it’s not ice cream from a car but… We dreamed of seeking revenge for constantly being picked on. We each stole two eggs from our respective refrigerators but again, I was stupid and did not really think this whole plan through. What the hell were two little wussy dweebs going to throw eggs at?
After carrying them around in my coat for half an hour not knowing what to do, I tossed one at a light pole two blocks from my house. Then I realized my other egg had cracked inside my jacket pocket. Apparently before I had even finished scraping out the seeping glop, Mom had already gotten a phone call from a neighbor ratting us out.
I threw one friggin’ egg and got caught. It’s not like I could even deny it. Mom might not have been an expert mystery sleuth like Scooby Doo, but with an egg carton in the fridge suddenly two shy of a dozen, smelly raw egg residue in my pocket and an adult eye-witness, there was no getting out of that one. Let’s just say no one was signing dumb Danny Doorbell up for the Little Einstein award.
This is not a new revelation, I know I was a stupid little kid. That’s how I broke my nose when I was three. I was too stupid to put my hands out when I fell. I did not want to spill the 10-cent jar of bubble juice I was holding or lose the little plastic stick you blow through. So, I held those things safely in each hand and broke my fall on the cement driveway with my face.
Just after my brother got Broken Nose Danny Doorbell inside, the little Greek girl from across the street Voula Montesantos, that later called me Danny Doorbell and eventually just ignored me, came over to our house to play. She got one look at my mangled face and went running home screaming and crying. I’ve had the same effect on women ever since, but that is just another reason why I have to be nice to the wife. Otherwise she might catch on that I’m a complete cretin and go running away just like Voula.
How my wife has put up with a goofus galoot like me for 17 years, I’ll never know. That is why I do not purposely try to annoy her too very much here in the old blog or anywhere for that matter. I really attempt to be a good husband and treat her with the respect she deserves. That is why last week was so hard on me.
The day after I annoyed her with my ‘crack-o-Dawn’ joke, my wife awoke and told me I had been really, really mean to her in one of her dreams. So mean, she admitted, that she might still mentally be holding a little bit of a grudge against me. I appreciated that she warned me but how do I defend myself against something I did not do? I mean, yeah, I can be a butthead sometimes; I told the damn ‘crack-o-Dawn’ joke two weeks in a row, but I can’t be held responsible for Dream Dan being a jerk. I have enough trouble controlling the occasional remaining vestiges of stupid dorky Danny Doorbell, now I have stupid old Evil Dream Dan to worry about too.