'Tis Me Again, B'y!

I'm still the same fellow I was in my first three books, still born in the same place, but for some reason I'm older than in those other books. I don't even have my own teeth anymore. I use my wife's. This book is a compilation of childhood and adult stories, from the time I was almost baked in a witch's oven to the time Murray and I , dressed to kill, went to our girlfriends' party smelling of duck muck; and then once I had grown to adulthood, you can read how I planned to make a fortune selling meat, if only I could come up with a pneumatic drill; how I could have ended up in a wheelchair simply from picking blackberries; and how my brother-in-law, Eddy, and I woke up one morning with brand new faces. You'll also learn that I am so handy that when I climbed onto the roof on Christmas Day to shovel off some ice, Santa pushed me right off backwards. I believe that the Jolly Old Elf was jealous that my beard was wavier than his!

(Excerpt) Johnny, My Love

At one time I worked for a small factory just outside Boston where rubber handles for pliers and other tools were made. It was a great place to work. One Christmas Eve at noon, one of the bosses, Johnny, said, "Everything stops. We're having a party." Of course, I didn't try to talk him out of it.

It was the custom of our bosses to send bottles of V.O. to their customers, and they had ten cases left over; so the drinks were plentiful. An afternoon of anything goes was enjoyed; I remember I even step-danced for the bunch.

Hours later as all the employees were shaking hands and going off to their homes, I was feeling much lighter on my feet than when I had come to work. It was only a few blocks to my apartment, and luckily I had walked to work. This gave me a good excuse to drink that extra one for the road.

Three blocks to home was nothing. My temperature was soaring high and scorching the snowflakes as they fell on me. I didn't have to worry how my feet were working. I did a waltz clog all the way home.

But I had to pass a delicatessen which was run by an Italian woman. Every morning and evening to and from work, I passed this store and I saw the same sign in the window 'Fresh Herrings For Sale'. In school we were always taught that the plural of herring was herring; we had eaten enough herring in our day to know what two was called. The sign used to get on my nerves and I used to say, "Some day I'm going to go in and tell her the difference."

This was the day. Stumbling in, I babbled on and on to her about taking the 's' off the word 'herrings'. But after the argument, she in Italian and me in Gaelic, I became the loser. She threw a wet cake at me and almost stopped my breathing.

Home I shuffled, dripping cake batter. Rhoda met me at the door and was a bit surprised. I wanted my wife to know it wasn't my fault, so I blurted out, "They had their Christmas party.", leaving her to believe they had forced me to imbibe and then thrown cake batter at me.

Rhoda wasn't too worried. She just said, "Andy, Johnny sent us a lovely Christmas card today." (Johnny was the big boss.) . After I had removed my coat, Rhoda said, "We have no more cards left. It's four p.m., so you'd better go to the store before they close." It was snowing quite heavily, but my pores were still giving off heat, and it wasn't until I was half a block away from home that I realized I had no coat on.

Only half an hour before closing time I found a clerk in the store and told her I wanted a big, expensive card for Johnny. "Sorry," she said, "We only have what you see here.", which was almost a naked rack. But I did see one I took a liking to, so I took it and had to get the clerk to find an envelope for it. It all took time, but I managed my mission. Now I had to mail it right away so it would have a December 24th postmark on it. I stamped it and mailed it. My deed was done.

I turned to leave the store, but walked headlong into a two-way mirror. It threw me back about five feet and I landed in a ball position with my arms wrapped around my face. Three men and a woman unrolled me and looked at my head, which was starting to look a bit like a pumpkin. Someone gave me a drink of water, which I didn't need, and told me to breathe deeply for a few minutes. I thought they were going to take my picture.

At last I found my way home. Christmas came on Sunday that year. Early Monday morning, the boys at work razzed me all day. They kept asking me if I was looking for a raise, or if I was going into partnership with Johnny. Later I found out why. There on Johnny's desk was a great big birthday card, not even a Christmas card, with large bold letters, saying:

TO MY DARLING SWEETHEART, ANDY.

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