H. Neal Glanville: The secret curse

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H. Neal Glanville

H. Neal Glanville's column appears in the Craig Daily Press on Mondays.

I start each morning with a cup of black sludge, a smoke and a quick read of the Craig Daily Press. I try not to read articles or columns that will ruin my new "kinder, softer, gentler attitude," something I admit still needs work; not a lot but some.

My cherished dark-haired girl reads the entire paper front to back and back to front. She'll dilly dally with the Sudoku box and sweep through the crossword thing.

Knowing my mindset, she waits until the end of the day to bring a particular article or column to my immediate attention.

I tend to believe women are given a special (if not evil) gift while being rocked in mommy's arms.

Don't shake your head at me; next time you see a baby girl in her mother's arms, watch mom whisper little things in her ear. She's not cooing or telling her how beautiful she is.

Mom is passing on the secret ways to drive a man stupid.

Men have been found curled up in the sagebrush, blubbering about weeds, lawnmowers and flowering baskets all because of this secret way women have of asking questions, questions that don't need to be asked.

Why? Because there's no way a right answer will cross over our lips.

Such was the case July 28.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?" my dark-haired beauty asked.

It sounded innocent enough, almost angelic. Then, with the deftness of a highly-trained magician, poof, the paper appeared.

"Hey, baby, did you read this?"

That quirky smile was twitching at the corner of her lips. I know, I know. I should have run. But where? She'd already asked the question. My fate was sealed.

I looked at her fingernail scratching the face of columnist Diana West.

"Do I need to?"

My voice box was trying to slam shut.

"Yup" was all she said, as that dang fingernail took a fair-sized chunk out of Diana West's forehead. I glanced down, hoping to fake my way through.

"No, down here" the tapping fingernail said.

I sat in my favorite chair, glanced up, saw the look and decided reading the column was my only way out.

The more I read West's column, the more convinced I became that freedom of speech is a glorious thing to possess.

Within two paragraphs it became painfully obvious she had done very little research into President Johnson's "Great Society" or Walter Cronkite's on the ground reporting of the war in Vietnam.

President Johnson and the war were doomed from their beginnings. Johnson's great society was a pipe dream that never found a pipe, and his hamstringed attempts at controlling the war were bludgeoned beyond recognition by McNamara and Westmoreland.

Mr. Cronkite only reported what he saw and heard from soldiers and staff members in the field of battle. If not wanting to report on the daily count of American dead while film clips of the wounded roll by makes him wrong, then we should all be so wrong.

The kinder, softer and gentler side decided to leave the room as I jumped up with waded paper in hand.

"Do you have any idea what this lady has written," I blubbered waving the paper like a grease rag.

"Yup" she said, that quirky smile now full blown. "Just thought you should read it."

That's all she said. I turned away as my lips mimicked "just thought you should read it."

I'm telling you guys, we must ban together and put a stop to this womanly secret thing. It's a curse to all the man laws and serves no purpose.

Sure, it makes us think and speak aloud, but : it's still a curse.

Now for something completely different

Last week's fishing on the Yampa River was bad to poor with the occasional "please let me catch something" prayer.

Stagecoach Reservoir is good early in the morning and even better just before dark. No one will speak the truth about Steamboat or Pearl Lake, so you're on your own with those two.

Until next time

Yup, there I was surrounded by a mob of "know it alls" chanting "We're smarter than you are, we're smarter than you are," when I said to myself "Self," I said, cause that's what I call myself when I'm talking to myself, "think of the kinder, softer, and gentler you, and remember that sometimes it's smarter to be dumb, than be dumb and be smart."

Thank you for your time.

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