Making Music

I called my friend today. She said she was having jaw problems. She said she was out of pain, but her jaw was still clicking.

“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to do?” I asked.

“Every word I say, I hear a click afterward, like a flamenco dancer’s castanet inside my head.”

“Can you make music with it?” I said.

“No, and besides I have a nodule under my right earlobe the size of a large pea that’s not going away,” she said.

“I didn’t know peas came in large sizes,” I said.

“They don’t, but mine does,” she said.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said.

“Can you pop it like bubble wrap?”


“Then color it and have some fun with it,” I said.

“That’s a good idea, sorta like an earring, except a little farther down,” she said.

“I still can’t gain weight. My friends tell me there’s something wrong. I don’t know. I eat like a horse,” she said.

“You just can’t please anybody anymore. Thanks Hollywood. Those image-busters have ruined it for us. If you’re too thin, you’re not hot, if you’re too fat, you’re invisible. And if you’re just right, there are no real men out there to appreciate it anyway,” I said.

My friend laughed. “I’ve got to go now. I’m clicking, I mean shopping for face paint for my pea.”

She clicked and was gone.

Calvin says, “The day my jaw clicks my reputation as a fierce hunter is over. The rabbits would roll over laughing.”