Perky

I received a free copy of Reader's Digest this week.  I've always enjoyed the magazine, but when you have a "no budget" budget, some things just have to go.  I opened it at once.  By page 27, it had inspired this article.  It says "Finish This Sentence.  The title of my autobiography would be . . ." 


Patti Ebben of Appleton, Wisconsin says, "Why Does My Cheerfulness Annoy You So?"


Oh, Patti, let me count the ways.  I don't know you personally, of course.  I don't even know if you are a celebrity or a hard working school teacher.


Let's just describe a few ways.  I get to bed at 11:30 for a change.  I'm just slipping away into dreamland and the idiot that leaves the neighborhood fire pit powwow revs his engine a few times, then takes off.  Tonight it isn't enough to set off my car alarm just once.  He goes around the block and tries again.  Between 12:30 and 1:30, a neighbor slams the front door and moves rather noisily up the stairs.  Somewhere around 3:00 to 3:30 another door is slammed.  If I'm lucky enough to get back to sleep at this one, another neighbor makes up for it with a slam around 4:30.  At 7:30 during the school year, the little guy right next door starts getting ready for school.  He really loves those boots of his.  I get to be grateful for silence for another hour.  Then, it starts again.  Finally, if I haven't given up already, I do it now.


I sit on the side of the bed waiting for my head to quit spinning (Eustachian tube failure), then as I pull myself up by holding onto my dresser, I'm reminded of the Robert Redford character in Electric Cowboy saying it takes a little longer for the "broke parts" to work.  I throw on my robe, find my keys and billfold which I must carry all day, stop by to water the commode and then limp my way down the stairs.  I flip on the television and there is little Miss Perky doing her thing.  Well, actually, there is a perky 1 and perky 2 on this one sometimes.  It depends on what life experience the other is letting it all hang out about, whether she is manic or morose.  So I switch channels where the male anchor periodically has to calm their somewhat preferable version of cheerful.  I give up and wait until 9:00 when I can get Perry Mason reruns.  That show hasn't "changed" in decades (LOL) and I can always count on Della Street for a classy, upbeat, well-mannered version of cheerfulness.  There's no dealing with a frisky puppy or an uncontrollable teenager before I get my morning cup of coffee.