And elderly cousin tells me that dozing through the day is good after a night like that. I made up for skipping one night by getting to bed early the next night, and slept fine.
A younger friend and former student says once ‘when you were about to leave for the States and I kept talking near your bed, busy introducing a new set of water pump that is silent and you said, “Well, I cant sleep while there is such a bigmouth beside me”, then you sat on your bed and I left’. I think there's a difference between a motormouth and a scintillating conversationalist.) My friend suggested, ‘Count sheep, or you can use a calculator’.
After those meetings, while flying home, as I sat in my airline seat, a woman walked by in lavender attire of VERY synthetic appearance. I almost asked, ‘How many polyesters died to make that pantsuit?’ This joke is not original with me--I think at least Steve Martin said something similar, and he might have gotten it from someone else.
When I told this story, through, a friend said, ‘You really need to write a book. Such a great way God has given such unique humor and way of expressing what you see.’ Well, I’ve written some books, but she’s right that I haven’t written a humorous one yet.
A distant cousin queries, ‘I honestly cannot fathom how a fellow Scism can joke about such matters. Seriously, sir, we are talking about not only the death of polyester, but of LAVENDER polyester! Have you no heart? None? I am sobbing at this horrendous…and it is what Oprah once called, "the ugly cry". Yes, this fellow Scism is now a wreck. Shame on you, Stanley. Just shame, shame... BTW, did she smell of some horrid Elizabeth Taylor perfume?’ I wouldn’t know—her perfume was lost to me in the normal airplane smells, and in my anticipation of cranberry juice served by flight attendants.