Stowers: Pumpkin spice...I don’t get itBy BY MARK H. STOWERS COLUMNIST,
Good Mornin’! Good Mornin’!
The world seems to be in love with pumpkin spice. It’s in everything from candles to coffee and everything in between. I have no idea why. Maybe it smells good but I can’t smell. Perhaps therein lies the problem. Fair warning, this gets nasty.
I've heard traumatic events can affect one's physical body - blindness, paralysis – I can't smell. Unless a herd of skunks has taken up residence on my foot with their southern extremities aimed at my useless nostrils, then I vaguely get a scent. But here’s what happened to me – traumatically.
A country boy's best friend is his dog. I raised several, but my favorite was a cross breed named Patch. She was part walker hound, part beagle, but all mine. We were inseparable. I would bike and she would run like the wind ahead of me, I could never catch up with her. I taught her how to swim and she bailed me out of many a leftover at dinner time. Patch was cool and smart. She was an inside/outside dog. She would scratch the door to go in and out of the house and every night she took her portion of my bunk bed.
This is where my life changed, at least my senses.
I had gone to bed but had neglected to maintain Patch's routine of going outside before bed. I was tired, she could hold it, my 10-year-old brain reasoned. Ten-year olds should not make decisions of this magnitude, much less a tired one. But, I did. About 2:00 a.m., I felt someone scratching me and digging me. It was Patch, gently reminding me that we had not followed proper dog owner procedure before procuring sleep time. I pushed her away and rolled over. I don't remember how many times she bugged me to take care of this matter.
I remember feeling pinned down to the bed. It seemed that four dog legs were straddling me. I couldn't move. I didn't outweigh Patch by a whole lot. I kind of opened my left eye to gather information. My beloved dog was straddling my head with her rear in the proximity of my forehead.
"Uh, brain, we've got a problem," left eye screamed. "The tail is in the air, I repeat, the tail is in the air!"
"Move, now!" my brain screamed to the rest of my sleepy body.
"I can't!" the hands responded. "We're trapped."
"There's nothing we can do," replied the legs.
Looking up at a lifelong friend, straining above me to relieve her situation, unable to move, I just turned my head as far as I could. Not enough to get out of the line of fire though.
In what seemed like an eternity but only took nanoseconds, my whole world changed. Innocence was lost. A friendship altered. My sense of smell permanently removed.
My faithful friend had pooped on my head! Oh and she had diarrhea. I didn't know that diarrhea is hot.
I am now an expert.
It is hot.
I don't recommend doing research on this fact. Just take it as fact.
No one asked me the next day why I was washing sheets and bathing at 2:00 a.m. I didn't tell. Until now. And I haven't smelled a thing since I was 10. But is pumpkin spice really worth smelling?
I’d always ‘preciate your comments here or over at Facebook, or you can tweet me @markhstowers ... See yah next week! As a freelance writer, I’m working to grow my business and have created a GoFundMe page to help with that. Please take a look and see if you can help. I’d greatly appreciate it!
A Rebel, a Statesman — or Fightin’ Okra — and even a Trojan, I’m the Sunflower County farm boy with no green thumb who longed to live in the big city, got his wish and now is working his way back to the farm.
There are those of us that packed up Mississippi and took it with us to new destinations and neighbors. My area code may be 248 but my heart is all about 662 and Sunflower County.
There’s more about me at markhstowers.com.