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Dress for scarecrow success
Bummer.
My favorite baseball team heads without delay toward a modern record in futility (17 consecutive losing seasons). They're not going to get better any time soon.
Pontiac, the company that gave me the Firebird and the GTO, went out of business and Farrah Fawcett, fantasy queen of my locker door, died.
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I've never been a clothes guy. I wouldn't be able to find GQ on a magazine rack if you spotted me the G. My idea of style is making sure something doesn't smell and has most of the appropriate buttons.
Look out, George Clooney. I'm gunning for you.
None of that mattered until this week. After rabbits held a rock concert in the middle of our cucumbers (listening to the birds, the beetles and the black crows) we decided to build a scarecrow.
The designer explained that she needed "an old shirt" and "an old pair of jeans" in order to chase away the varmints. That was the last I heard and, honestly, the last I thought about the situation until I arrived home one night last week to find myself standing in the middle of the garden.
At least it looked like me.
Seeing a likeness of yourself, stuffed with hay, held aloft by a pole up your rear end, is a bit jarring. There I was, all done up like poor Ray Bolger in "The Wizard of Oz." On a big pillow case head was my Pirates cap. At the ends of the arms were my gloves from last winter. The biggest slap was the fact that the shirt used by the scarecrow designer was one I'd worn to work just last week. The jeans were a pair she's been trying to toss away for quite some time.
As they say in church, they're holy.
To make the prop all the more believable, my Vera Wang wannabe of a wife placed a battery operated transistor radio in the doll's chest. Tuned to your favorite sports talk station, the radio now allows the scarecrow to not only wear my clothes, but spout the same inane nonsense about the Steelers' chances of repeating their Super Bowl victory, day in and day out.
So let's review.
My clothes, the ones I wear every day, have now been found suitable for a hay-stuffed scarecrow. My radio show, the one I sweat and slave over every day of my life, has been judged to be useful as a natural deterrent - it chases rodents away. And, perhaps worst - my likeness is spending the summer with a broomstick shoved up his rear.
I sure hope those cucumbers taste good.
