PANTS ON FIRE

When I show up to see my CPA at tax time, Clare clears her desk so I can spread out all my shoeboxes filled with receipts. First, she asks how much income I had last year.  That’s when I say: “It’s always about money with you people, isn’t it?”

When I walked in this week, she said, “Well, if it isn’t Brian Williams!” I was flattered, and not surprised that she mistook me for the dashing NBC reporter, but my ego was soon deflated when she explained the reference. “I saw your column in the paper, the one where you claim that you never procrastinate. You even boasted you completed your 2014 taxes in January.” Then she directed the tip of her well-sharpened number two pencil at the huge stack of papers I had piled on her desk. I got the point. I must have turned red because Clare jotted down something on her legal pad. Any reference to being in the red has to be carefully documented.

I told my wife about my experience with Clare,  and Mary Ellen said that after reading my columns over the years, she noticed that a disturbing of pattern of deception had clearly developed. “Like Brian Williams, you have become very adept at manipulating the facts to benefit your own career. Of course, Brian is way better than you at it,” she said, “by about 9.94 million dollars a year.”

I thought that ended the discussion, but Mary Ellen then added: “I think you should go back to every one of your 800 columns and print a retraction for each exaggeration and flat-out lie you told. Here’s your opportunity to correct any references to me where I do not appear to be anything but the intelligent, loving wife that I am. Oh, and a superb cook.”

I was going to have a lot of work to do.

To test the waters, I flipped to a random newspaper humor column I’d written where I recounted how our camera had been stolen at the Bermuda airport and with it, all our vacation photos. I claimed that the thief saw my attached ID tag, and emailed the photos back to me along with a critique of my picture-taking ability. He even commented about how lovely my wife was. It was a little creepy, but he did offer some good advice on a more flattering hairstyle for Mary Ellen. The camera being stolen? Yes, that was true. The rest? Not so much.

I read another column. In this one I claimed I went into the garage one night without any clothes on to get a can of diet soda. The door locked behind me and I spent the entire night sleeping in my car, naked.  Here’s the truth: I was actually getting a can of beer. Okay, I feel better now.

I think Brian Williams should tell the public that even if it makes his stories less interesting, he will from this moment on always be 100 percent truthful. Personally, I’m not ready to make that promise.

SOUNDS OF VIOLENCE!

The disorder is called misophonia. When I first heard about this I thought it was a feeling you experience when you can’t find your cellular device.  So what is it? Well, if you have misophonia, you’re not going to like the sound of this. Actually, if you have it, you are not going to like the sound of almost anything. The malady is characterized by an aversion and sometimes a violent response to certain everyday sounds.

A man who wrote a recent article about this is a primary care physician who claims there are certain noises he can’t tolerate. Hopefully “Ouch!” and “ahhh…” are not examples of those. He admits being overly sensitive to yawners and to people whose “saliva is audible when they speak.” By the way, if your saliva is saying anything interesting, I’d like to interview you on my TV segment.

At the misophonia website, many people expressed great relief at discovering that other people had this problem, suggesting it meant they were not crazy. That’s like watching a documentary about a woman who sprinkles sawdust on her corn flakes like you do and then saying: “See, I’m not so loony, after all.” One man said that he suffered from the disorder way before he knew there was a word for it. This is not so unusual.  My mother told me that as an infant I had catastrophic intestinal issues, but I don’t think I ever heard the word diarrhea until I was in the fourth grade.

One woman commented that she hated the sound of heavy breathing and when she heard anyone doing it, she immediately left the room. She signed her post as Chastity, which makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Another lady said that she hated it when people whistled through their noses and still another poor soul said that she could not stand the sound of her own chewing. Don’t tell the whole world about this, lady.  Just keep your mouth shut.

The sound of people eating popcorn was mentioned in several of the posts.  And the crunching of apples drives a lot of people bonkers. One farmer said—and I swear I am not making this up—that when her husband eats an apple, she has to cover her ears, “but  listening to my horse eating an apple doesn’t bother me at all.” Here’s another post:  “I can’t stand any sounds that are emitted orally.” So apparently as long as her partner doesn’t snore or burp, she’s happy with anything. A newlywed said that her husband’s eating disgusts her and she’s thinking of leaving him. What? She’s just now discovering this? Waiting until marriage for intimacy is old-fashioned enough, but waiting for your first meal? What cult is that?

The sounds made by ice cream eaters are also annoying to some people. What with the lip-smacking and the spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl, one woman confessed she was thinking about doing away with her husband, but instead she told him he was lactose intolerant. A senior citizen said that when his wife gulps soup, he wants to ring her neck. By the way, ringing is sound most people hate.

Check out the website Misophonia.com.  Are these real people with legitimate concerns? Who knows. Maybe it’s all just hearsay.

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