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Daft

DAFT
By Don Kenton Henry

You call me “Daft”, Maxine? I paid my psychiatrist $15,000 over four years to tell me the same thing! I could have just asked you at no cost! My fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Pain, used to call me that on a daily basis. One day she became so exasperated with my antics, she picked me up by my right ear and carried me out of the classroom. (This was in a day when you could water board students and do other such things which ninnies today refer to as child abuse. And now you know why I call Mrs. Payne– “Mrs. Pain”.) Anyway … ever since – I have been daft AND deaf.

 
The other day I was at the register at Toys R Us and the clerk informed me I was “addlepated”. I said, “I’ll give you $5 to tell me what that means. Otherwise I’m going to have to pay my psychiatrist $500 to find out – and he still won’t know what to do about it.”

 
She took the $5 and said, “Daft”.

 
Again, Maxine, I could have just asked you for free. But this is was before I knew you were in the business. I think you, Mrs. Pain, my psychiatrist and the clerk all studied at the same university.

 
So (to wrap this up and get back to Jeopardy) I took my bag and stormed toward the store exit. As I futilely attempted to depart through the doors which read, “Entrance Only”, the clerk took the opportunity to call after me,

 
“Hey, what are you going to do with all those Barbies and GI Joes anyway?”

 
I said, “It’s Friday and we are going to have one wild party on the living room floor tonight … and YOU are not invited.”

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