So when I was with the Prostate King last week, and he was hinting around to determine the state of my mental health - how are you doing, what do you do for fun, do you travel, what do you do - I replied, lamely, "I read."
He seized on that like I was little Johnny taking his first shit on the toilet.
"Wow, really - you read? Books? You read books? With pages and everything? Imagine all the things you have learned from a lifetime of reading. The places and things you have been exposed to. Reading is so good for you. It stimulates the mind. How often do you read? Really, that is excellent." And on and on and on.
Normally I would call him a lowlife, diseased, motherfucker, but I like the guy. I have told this story before, I'll tell it again because it is so good.
A couple of years ago, in the roll-up to prostate cancer, I was in his office every other day, experiencing the intrusion of his finger up my ass regularly. I went in one day not expecting the finger and he said "OK, you gotta drop your pants." I rolled my eyes.
He said: "You know, this isn't any fun for me either." We laughed.
So I know he meant well with the whole reading overkill thing but, still, it really put my life (or the lack thereof) in perspective.
No comments:
Post a Comment