It's so hard to find a good doctor these days

I went to the doctor and said, “At night I’m having trouble falling asleep, and stay awake long after the kids have gone to bed.”

“No problem. I can prescribe you some good sleeping pills,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I continued. “When I finally do fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up.”

The doctor interrupted a second time. “Sounds like depression, and if that’s the case, no worries. Nothing a good prescription won’t fix.”

“Wait, there’s more. When I get home from work and my sweet, darling children talk to me I feel a strong urge to grab a beer and take a long swig every time they say, ‘Mom’ or ‘Can you…’. If I actually followed through, in a couple of hours I’d be drunker than Amy Winehouse at a Sunday brunch.”

I sometimes wonder if it’s just her name. Maybe if she changed it to ‘Amy Straighthouse’ or ‘Amy Soberhouse’ it would help her image? Maybe at least help keep her from always looking totally trashed?


Nah.

He winced. “Sounds like you might have the drinking disease. Any alcoholism in your family?”

“No. None. Having lots of kids is the only thing that runs in my family.”

While he scratched his head, I continued describing my symptoms. “When we’re at the grocery store, I want to throw all of the frozen foods into my cart and totally empty out the freezer case.”

“Hunger?”

“No. ‘Cause then it would be easier to stuff my kids into the freezer case.”

“Oh.”

“Just until they begged for mercy,” I added.

He frowned. “It sounds like you’re having early symptoms of a disease called KCJB - Kidamage Caustrating Jellocious Braindeadeous.”

I let out a puzzled, “Hmm?”

He continued, “In plain English - Kids Causing Jellied Brain. It’s very real, and you should be very afraid. The more kids you have, the worse it will be for you in the end. And you’ve got like - let me see your chart - holy kidlets. Five. You should be crapping your pants. Right now. I wish I could tell you there’s a cure. But what I can tell you is, there’s no cure.”

I let out a stunned, “Huh?”

“Luckily, you do have some time left to enjoy life. Mainly in those precious hours you spend away from your children. But eventually your entire brain is going to turn to jelly. One big blob of jam that will be totally useless. If I had to guess, based on everything you’ve told me, I’d say it could happen in about five years. That’s not so bad. You’ll be 40 then, so your life will basically be over anyway.”

I let out a - nothing. Just dropped my jaw into my lap.

He continued, “I admire your gaping mouth. So I’ve been thinking. You know what? I can’t lie to you and say this disease is entirely incurable. There’s nothing wrong with being proactive, now that you know what fate lies ahead. So I’ll let you know - and this needs to be kept just between you and me - I’ll totally cover you, if you want to pull a Yates.”

“If I pull a what?!”

He continued, “Shh! Not so loud. I’m trying to help you here. Surely you’ve heard of that mother who drowned her five kids?”

“Um yeah, the psycho-mama. I don’t want to drown anyone. No offense.”

He put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “Well, seriously? You’re going to shoot that one down without any consideration? ‘Cause although you’d be in a hospital for the rest of your life, it would be a long life without jam for a brain. You’d retain your sanity. No one will know. You plead insanity, I’ll back you. I’ve got a doctor pal working with a certain defense lawyer, and my friend owes me some favors. Think about it.”

“No.”

“Oh well. I got it! How about an accident? Here’s a good one. It’s simple. Take the kids on a hunting trip. ‘Accidentally’ make them your target.”

“HELL no.”

“Um, alright. Too violent. Okay. I got it! Take them on a long drive into the mountains. ‘Accidentally’ lose them in the middle of nowhere. The wolves and bears should take good care of them. Worst case scenario: one makes it out alive. Two tops.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks Doc, but I think the only real solution is to send the kids to live with their grandparents. After everything I’ve learned about KCJB today, I’m thinking it’s a good idea. It’s become pretty clear - Mom and Dad are already a couple of jam heads.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up.
















“Great Scott! Now why didn’t I think of that?”


Hmm. He looks awfully familiar.

Why I prefer mountains to beaches

I’ve never been to a real beach, that is, an ocean. So I obviously haven’t had the true beach experience. However, I grew up in a state with many lakes, and back home a “beach” is what we call a sandy lake shore. So now I‘ll compare mountains to beaches based on my vast wealth of (cough) knowledge.

Mountains: If you’ve never taken a drive through the mountains, put it on your to-do list. They are majestic, beautiful, and clean. What’s even better is visiting a mountain lake, spring, river, or falls. Now let me be clear - I’m just talking about a day trip here. If you’ve never been camping before, this is not the best place to pop that cherry. Bears love mountains even more than humans, and can smell food from miles away. You don’t want to have a cook-out unless you’ve brought your guns. The actual odds of seeing a bear are very slim, but you’ll probably see deer, eagles, mountain goats and other wildlife. So as long as you aren’t camping or wandering off the trail, the worst thing you’ll ever see are log cabins as this might make you think of the Unabomber (definitely will if you‘re in Montana) but I have yet to run into any creepy people. Hermits like to hide and will only hurt you if you climb the barbed wire. And when you do see people they are usually sight-seeing and share the same look of dumbfounded awe on their faces. Sure, you could look up relevant pictures on the internet or watch the Travel Channel, but it doesn‘t come close to being there. Maybe if I compare mountains to sex it will help drive the point home. You wouldn’t choose porn over flesh, would you? Well, maybe that isn’t the best question to be asking on the internet.

Beaches: There really isn’t any scenery unless you can ignore the beachgoers, rolls of naked flesh, bright orange towels, bright orange swimsuits, umbrellas, sandals, and litter. Don’t tell me you can enjoy the sound of the waves and seagulls when every few minutes some one is yelling (as if the kids can hear Mom while they’re up to their necks in water). And there is always that one screaming child who gives you an instant headache, and the couple who can't keep their domestic dispute in the bar where it belongs. You could go to a more secluded beach but you’ll still get sand in your swimsuit. Uh oh, I’m having a flashback to my childhood. Maybe this is just a girl problem, but when I was a kid I was a sand magnet. And it wasn’t just me. I had sisters, and friends. No matter how hard we tried to avoid it, we always ended up just like toy dump trucks. We had to ride home with sandpaper on our crotches. When we’d change out of our suits we’d have to pour them out over a waste basket. Also, at the beach there is no such thing as average. There are only two kinds of people - the kind that shouldn’t be in a swimsuit, and the kind that make you want to see what’s under it. The latter of the two, the sexy people with the rock-hard abs, make everyone else feel insecure and insignificant. And that is usually 90% on any given day. And you always see a few of the unattractive beachgoers giving the smoking hot ones those looks that could kill, like, How dare they look so good? You can just feel the animosity. If it weren’t so hot, because heat tends to make it difficult for people to move, they’d probably just beat the ever living crap out of them for looking so damn good. If that went down, I’d have to reevaluate my whole outlook on beaches. But for now, this is where I stand. Mountains are better.