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    It's O.K., I'm a Doctor
    It's O.K., I'm a Doctor
    It's O.K., I'm a Doctor
    Ebook105 pages1 hour

    It's O.K., I'm a Doctor

    By B.B. Howard

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    About this ebook

    If you can remember a screen door slamming shut and your mother yelling after you, In or out, youre letting flies in the kitchen, then you will enjoy this collection of short stories about growing up in the Deep South at a time when things were a little slower and much simpler. Most are true as best as I can recall and you are certain to find something that reminds you of yourself or someone you know.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXlibris US
    Release dateMay 14, 2010
    ISBN9781462830657
    It's O.K., I'm a Doctor
    Author

    B.B. Howard

    RB. Howard is a veteran of the U.S. Navy, worked in the oilfield, as a dog trainer and currently works for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. Born in Freeport, Texas, he is the father of three children and he and his wife currently reside in the South Texas town of Normanna. He enjoys the outdoors, his children and teaching Bible study with his wife at their local church.

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      Book preview

      It's O.K., I'm a Doctor - B.B. Howard

      INTRODUCTION

      It’s O.K., I’m a Doctor. My entire life has been a series of getting snagged on one technicality or another. My wife asked me the other day if I had taken out the trash like she had asked. I’ve taken out the trash hundreds of times so I say, Sure, I’ve taken out the trash. She then asks if I’ve taken it out recently. O.K., technically I had not taken it out just then. She got me on a technicality. I really wanted to be rich and handsome but by some technical fluke, I ended up poor and homely.

      So, I’m not a Doctor. I could say that I have a Ph.D. from the school of hard knocks, but that’s kind of hard to prove since they don’t give out diplomas, although I do have some pretty cool scars to show for it. However, none of those things translate too well onto a resume. No, I’m not a Doctor and I don’t even play one on T.V., but since laughter is good medicine for the soul, if I make you laugh, then—technically—I could be considered a Doctor. Of course if you think the book is stupid, that would make me a quack.

      Where do we go from here? We get through this together. Don’t be afraid to laugh, I wasn’t. I intended to make myself the good guy in all of these stories, but modesty (actually honesty) would not allow for it. Instead, I found that we laugh loudest when we laugh at ourselves. I have to admit that I have laughed at myself quite a bit in compiling these stories. I thought that I had been a reasonably suave kind of guy up until I remembered some of the really stupid things I did. I’ll bet if you read far enough, you will run across something you have done yourself. If so, feel free to laugh and rest assured that you are not alone in the world of lunacy. I just wrote it down so the entire world could laugh with me.

      I hope that when you are done, you will find humor in some of the ordinary things around you. God gave us a sense of humor, don’t be afraid to use it. Trust me, I’m a Doctor

      THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN

      MEN AND WOMEN

      Aside from anatomy, there are some fundamental differences between the sexes. The differences do not imply superiority on either part, they merely reflect the different perspectives that each take when approaching life. Logic, for instance. The definition and rules for logic are basically the same with regards to the two genders. It is the interpretation of these rules that separates men from women. There should actually be two terms: Male logic and Female logic.

      Male logic is consistent within the gender and makes sense to nearly all men. The same is true with women and female logic. The trouble arises when one group tries to understand the logic of the other. When a man sees something a woman does, he can make no sense of it because he applies his rules for logic to her decision. Never happen. The woman’s decision was based on her logic. To her, her decision was clear and simple and based on pure logic. To him, her decision seems haphazard and induced by narcotics. It took me several painful years to make this discovery and so I am now passing it on to you in hopes that you may better understand your spouse.

      The first time I realized that my logic did not apply to my wife was after five full years of marriage (I’m not very bright). So there I was after a hard day of working out in the yard, covered with grease and soot, proud of all that I had accomplished. I had very nearly reduced my honey-do list by one half and was exhausted. I undressed, threw my clothes in the dirty clothes hamper and took a shower. The next Saturday rolls around and, once again, I prepared to attack my ever growing honey-do list with reckless abandon. I couldn’t find my favorite work pants so I asked my wife if she had seen them. She said she hadn’t and asked me where I put them last. Obviously, if I knew where I put them I would know where they were. I told her I had not seen them since last Saturday when I put them in the dirty clothes hamper. A look of horror filled her face and she asked incredulously why I would put them in the dirty clothes hamper. I tell her, with no small amount of sarcasm in my voice that, in that they were both dirty and clothes, they would be more than welcome in the dirty clothes hamper. Apparently, that was not the correct answer because she then informed me that my dirty clothes were not to go into the hamper because they stink. I said of course they stink, that’s how I knew they were dirty and this fact reinforced my decision to put them in the dirty clothes hamper and not to wear them again.

      At this point, I was convinced that this was some cruel joke and that either the crew from Candid Camera was going to pop out or I would hear Rod Serling say, Submitted for your approval, a man slowly losing touch with reality as the theme from Twilight Zone becomes audible in the background and the camera pans to me laying on the floor in a puddle of drool trying to catch dust particles dancing in the light. But no, worse yet, this was real. I managed to make my eye quit twitching and wiped up most of the drool that I found running out of the corner of my mouth when my wife hit me with the big guns (they always save the big guns for last). We don’t even put dirty clothes in the dirty clothes hamper. The drool floodgates opened wide and the nervous twitch in my eye turns into a complete full body tremor. With the last remaining grain of sanity, I managed to ask feebly, why do we have a dirty clothes hamper if we don’t put dirty clothes in it?. My wife looked at me in utter amazement that I could be so dense and said in that same condescending tone she uses to tell the children why they can’t have another snack, because it matches the rest of the bathroom set. I lost consciousness shortly thereafter and don’t remember much of the next few days.

      After several years of marriage, I thought that I pretty much figured out female logic and had it under control. It was then that I learned the error of my ways. Having observed female behavior and being a student of their logic, I knew that from time to time, they try to trip you up. Armed with this knowledge, I remained on full alert and was prepared to combat just such a situation. Then it happened, there at a craft store, my lovely bride asked me if I think the candles on sale would fit our sconces and match our color scheme. Ha—Ha—Ha. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to trick me, sister. I caught her in her little feeble attempt to trick me. I had lived in that house for years and was quite certain that we did not even have a color scheme. For crying out loud, every room in the house was a different color. How could that be a color scheme? And further more, how could she be so foolish as to use a word like sconce? What kind of word is SCONCE? That was the most stupid word I had ever heard of, surely she could come up with a more believable word than that. I decided to use my powers of gamesmanship against her. I wasn’t falling for that made-up word. The tables were officially turned. I innocently asked what a sconce was just to see how quickly she could come up with some lame excuse. Without blinking an eye, she said it’s one of the candle holders that hangs on the wall in the living room. She looked at me in utter disbelief that I could be so unrefined and ignorant. Her answer was quick, too quick. Maybe she had all of that thought out beforehand. She could be quite treacherous.

      Just then, before I could tighten the noose around her pretty little neck, she recoils in full fury from defense to offense and said that I probably didn’t even know what our color scheme was. I felt like

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