When they care, it’s scrappleTHE PUBLIC EYE
Nothing says you really care like a pound of scrapple.
After having been down with the cruditis for about a week and having shown about as much interest in food as an embezzler does in a tax return, I opened the refrigerator to reaffirm my disinterest in eating.
And there it was, the mother lode of scrapple, and not just any scrapple, mind you, but the apex of pig parts and corn meal molded into a speckled gray slab of goodness, Kirby Holloway Scrapple.
Sick or not, I squealed like Sally Field on Oscar Night: “She likes me, she really does!”
After all, it says a great deal when the resident salad queen breaks her own rule of not buying scrapple more than twice a year because she believes it might restore your health.
“Well,” she said. “I’m concerned, and I figured if you won’t eat that, I need to start making arrangements.”
Given her sacrifice, I did have a piece or two and I’m now on my way to full recovery.
The truth is, I am a little bit of a hypochondriac, in that whatever little condition I might get from time to time, I magnify it in my mind into something much bigger, scarier and more interesting than, say, your usual cruditis.
That’s why I also went to the doctor, the scrapple cure nothwithstanding.
I’d only been sitting in the exam room for a couple of minutes when one of my favorite docs walked in and said, as he is inclined to do, “It’s a hemorrhage of pleasure to see you, sir. What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s dengue fever,” I replied.
“Interesting. And what makes you think that?”
“I just kind of know it. I’m very in tune with myself. I also looked it up on one of those medical web sites, plus I have a whole bag of Peanut M&M at home and — get this — I don’t want them. That says ‘serious illness’ to me.”
“You do realize that dengue fever is a tropical disease. Have you been way, way down south lately?”
“Does the inlet count?”
“Oh. What do I have then?”
“Cruditis. Here’s a prescription. Get it filled, follow it and live to fight another day. By the way, how’s the wife?”
“Great. As a matter of fact, I’d say she’s the Kirby Holloway of marital associates.”