This OLD RASCAL of mine
I was, to put it mildly, highly embarrassed last week by Jeff’s public outpouring of affection towards me. That we continue to enjoy each other after almost 40 years together is obvious to anyone reading our weekly epistles. It is, in fact, why we started writing them in the first place. Nonetheless it came as a shock to see his gushing love letter published for all the world to see.
But one of our agreements is to not pull any punches in our column. So here goes, Mr Jeff Sellers, let me tell our readers something about you.
I can think of at least 250 reasons why I positively don’t love you. You leave your clothes, books, CDs, wet towels, toothpaste caps and unintelligible scribbled notes scattered all over the place. And the litter inside our car is sometimes terrible. And you never ever pick up.
You never rewind video tapes. Or return them on time. And always make a scene at the store by trying to invent ridiculous excuses and always failing when they extract a penalty for returning late and not rewinding.
You complain loudly much too loudly, in supermarkets if the cashier closes the check-out counter when you’re waiting in line. You fall asleep watching TV baseball and grumble when I switch to the Lifetime channel.
You use stupid voices to leave outrageous messages on answering machines. You tell perfect strangers talking on cellular phones in airport waiting areas to shut up.
Since you figured out how to create all sorts of personas for yourself on the Internet I never know who my e-mails are coming from. Entering even the most humourless and repressive countries you argue with Customs and Immigration officials when you go through the Green Port and they stop you to ask if you have anything to declare.
Unfortunately space doesn’t allow listing the other 242 reasons. But despite every single idiosyncrasy you are still a little boy at heart. And every time you give me that mischievous grin, I melt.
Even when you’re arguing with stern-faced machine-gun-toting Paraguayans at Asunción Airport. Like you did last time we visited that country. I confess I wanted to become putty in your hands and couldn’t wait to get to our hotel.
Dearest Jeff Sellers, you might be the most untidy, rambunctious, loud and argumentative scamp I ever met. But, you’re my scamp and for that Im truly thankful.
