Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Nubbin Ventured, Nubbin Gained

I’m not going to lie…I have issues with some physical deformities. Not the big ones – not the paralyses or muscular type stuff or the really big stuff that would make me insensitive to the plight of others….just the nubbins. As all the enlightened know, a nubbin is a diminished appendage or perhaps a superfluous third nipple. Nubbin also of course includes small unexplained growths and other tidbits that seem to branch off one’s body at odd angles. For example, “he grasped his hot dog with his wee little nubbins which frightened me to my core.”

I bring up my nubbin fascination (as opposed to my fearful fascination with clowns which is for another post) to share a grievance. A grievance about an acquaintance I’ll call Nubbin (and no, it’s not any of you so stop checking your appendages).

Nubbin is the type of “friend” who thinks you two are much closer than you consider yourself to be. For instance, while I find the topic fascinating in others, I have no interest in her college exploits or the functioning of her digestive tract. She thinks she’s your best pal even though she is unaware that you never make such decisions without the heavy, heavy influence of your best friend, Bud Light. But I digress. Suffice to say, that if I see Nubbin coming, I start to search around for a hot poker to shove through my eyeball in the hopes it may lessen conversation time. However, knowing Nubbin, a hot poker protruding from any orifice may not disuade her.

Now, let me be clear. Nubbin is not a BAD person. She really isn’t. She is very nice in a plain oatmeal sort of way – you know what I mean - oatmeal is better than starving but it certainly isn’t bacon (my all consuming love of bacon is a subject to be covered in another post). Her problem is that she is mind numbingly boring. She likes to engage in long inane conversations about her satanic children while all you can do is look at her nubbin and wonder in your head “why doesn’t she get that fixed?”

I also find a high correlation between the presence of a nubbin situation and the lack of a humor situation. Perhaps whatever energy the body put forth into producing its nubbin resulted in turn to a depleted humor resource. Cause folks, let me tell you – Nubbin ain’t funny.

Do Nubbin and her kin know this? No. They often chuckle at their own little witticisms while you feverishly wonder what would happen to your dog if you threw yourself out the old high-rise window – which of course would be a very dramatic statement – at least until you realize that the tempered shatter-proof glass would most likely propel you backwards onto your ass with resounding force. Then of course you would be forced to explain to Nubbin that "no, you were not trying to commit suicide but that you were suffering from some sort seizure that inexplicably threw you against the window". This of course would be followed by a story from Nubbin about how her Great Uncle Pete suffered a seizure once while driving to Poughkeepsie in his ’74 Impala.

Lesson learned? When conversing with a nubbin, best to escape to fantasies of marrying Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and hope the nubbin doesn’t ask you a question.

P.S. Editing supplied by my friend, Good Coworker. Good Coworker is the only one at the workplace who is aware of my little hobby so if I get fired, I will be posting his home address along with pictures of his wife and child for all to extract their revenge upon.

P.S.S. I feel the love. This is Good Coworker's response -"That's "EXACT their revenge upon." Dumbass."

P.P.S. Good Coworker has informed me that the above "P.S.S." should have been "P.P.S." to which my response is Good Coworker shall be known as Anal Coworker from henceforth.

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