Potty Mouth
By Mark D. Crantz
The first thing I do in the morning is have a cup of coffee. The second thing I do in the morning is check my daily horoscope. It read, “Don’t drink coffee.”
It was going to be one of those days. My moon always seems to be in retrograde. Translation: Doing number two is not the third thing I do every morning. My moon is unreliable. I used to be able to count on it. That was where I kept my brain. But now, in my twilight years, you can’t count on those things you used to take for granted.
My Michigan neighborhood is getting younger and younger, with many more preschoolers. Take this one neighborhood kid. Please take the neighborhood kid. Pretty, pretty please. He’s a hellion. He has a potty mouth. I know he’ll outgrow it, even if his mother is worried he won’t. The mother told me the other day that Potty Mouth was seeing a therapist about it. “How’s it going?” I asked. “We’re looking for a new therapist. The last one was converted. He got a worse case of potty mouth than my son.”
Old people get potty mouth, too. It can’t be helped. We start to talk about constipation, diarrhea, peeing, not peeing, all the time. Life has come full circle. I’ve become the neighborhood kid. Of course, I don’t see a therapist because I know there’s no hope to correct and cure my potty mouth. My moon and other parts are not coming out of retrograde. Sooner or later, most likely sooner, I’ll turn to dust. The good news will be, “Viola, no more potty mouth.”
I have to confess, us old people, are pretty annoying. We talk too much about, “Back in the day or when I was a kid,” everything was better or worse or more challenging. Somewhere along life’s timeline, we’ve decided that we are experts on everything. We believe because we’ve had a lot of birthdays, this gives us a special soapbox to stand on and shout out wisdom to friends and foes alike. This ill-advised belief that with age comes wisdom usually ends in chasing away the friends and leaving the foes. “Hey, Gramps. Love the talk. What’s your PIN number?”
I know. I know. Younger readers are thinking, forget you, Grandpa and all the potty talk. I don’t have the time to listen. I’ve got to get the kids to soccer, baseball and swimming, not to forget I’m in charge of refreshments at all three events this week. So, forgive me for saying, “Put a cork in it, Gramps.”
Are you listening, Joe, Kamala and Donald?
Crantz tells Indy that “putting a cork in it” is the last thing he needs or others who may have moons in retrograde. However, for those younger and on the go, stop talking at one another and try to listen instead. It’s decency we’re after.
