I'm pretty sure I'm as smart as a fourth grader. Impressive, huh?
Oh, all right, I'll admit that I can't do fractions in my head. And as far as I'm concerned, addition and subtraction are best done on my fingers.
All the same, my elementary school education has still served me well. Why? Because I have a vast store of elephant jokes. And someone who can remember elephant jokes fifty years later should get some points for memorization!
Q. Why do ducks have flat feet? A. From stamping out forest fires.
Q. Why do elephants have flat feet? A. From stomping out burning ducks.
Yeah, I know. Dumb. But all the fourth graders loved it.)
And then there's a joke that comes to mind whenever I drink juice.
Joe is sitting in his hospital bed, looking at his breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and apple juice. As he opens the apple juice, he accidentally knocks the plastic cup for it off the tray.
"Dang," he says, with a grimace. "I'm hooked up to all these monitors and there's no way I can reach that."
Sitting next to the breakfast tray is the small plastic container for the urine sample that's needed that morning. Joe thinks for a minute and says, "Well, the specimen cup is clean, so it won't matter if I pour the juice into it."
A few minutes later, the head nurse walks in, picks up the cup, eyes it critically, sets it back on the tray, and says, "Hmmm, we're looking a little cloudy today."
Joe picks up the cup, puts it to his lips and says, "Well, we'll just run it through again!"
Quite coincidentally, I visited my local hospital over the weekend. No, I'm not a weirdo who thinks visiting the emergency room is almost as good as watching House on TV.
I had a small medical issue that I thought would be a simple in and out trip but, unfortunately, not.
Twelve hours later, I lay in a bed that dipped in the center, causing my knees to touch my forehead. It was one of those hospital beds where, if you pushed the wrong button, it folded up with you in the middle. Just as I figured the buttons out and managed to narrowly escape a soft, but untimely death, the nurse brought in food.
Under other circumstances, the meal on the tray might have looked less appealing but going without food for twenty-four hours has a way of making even roadkill look appetizing. The pale, wan pork chop and serving of broccoli stems were a feast to my eyes.
But, wait. Over there on the corner of the tray. A glass of ... what was that? Some kind of juice?
Aaaahh, apricot juice. "Well," I said to my husband, Russ, "it looks a little cloudy, so let's just run it through again."
Then I smiled slyly, handed it to him, and said, "Here. You do it."
Ever wanted to kill your spouse because he/she keeps interrupting something you're trying to do? If so, you'll get a charge out of Cindy's latest published story, "Texting on Ice" in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Hooked on Hockey.