Hypothetically Speaking . . .

. . . . . . . . Because Humor Matters

Carpets and Strippers and Grandmas, Oh My!

Written By: Michael Rochelle - Apr• 22•19

Look, Mama, I’m doing manual labor!

The other day I lost an argument to my carpet. You should have been there. It got pretty heated. At one point my sofa and my love seat had to hold me back. Well, if I’m completely honest, it wasn’t really an argument because it was very one-sided. I was actually being lectured. Apparently, my carpet has needs that I haven’t been meeting lately, so it decided to no longer just lie there and take it. It was very disturbing. I hadn’t been that distraught since that one time my first-grade teacher told me I had no skills or talents. It’s a cold world.

I learned about my carpet shortcoming because of another area of my life where I’d been falling short. Let’s just say I’d had one of those wild Friday nights where you have so much fun with yourself that you accidentally leave a raisin or two out on your counter and wake up to find your entire household under attack by an army of ants the next morning. It was my following the trail of ants across the counter, down the wall, and over to the front door that led me to the argument with my carpet.

Much like my life, from a distance, my carpet looked perfectly fine. However, up close, it was absolutely appalling. There was so much that I wish I could unsee. My carpet could have easily been mistaken for several crime scenes. At one point I even decided to call the police to allow them time to collect a few samples so I wouldn’t be brought up on evidence tampering charges—again. I don’t know about you, but I have no desire to go back to jail this year, even if orange is the new black.

As I looked at the carpet and the army of ants, I knew something had to change. I mean, who lives like that? Maybe my carpet had been the reason I’d been single for so long. All that time I’d thought it was my paltry looks and my less than desirable personality that kept people running for the hills, but maybe it was really my 50 shades of carpet stains that had been so problematic.

The experience was very eye-opening. Although I was happy to cancel the face and personality replacement surgeries I had scheduled with a doctor who offered his services on eBay, it was clear that I needed to get my entire life together and become a better person fast. The ants and the carpet agreed.

After I vanquished the ants Game of Thrones style, I got my mom, my team of shrinks, and somebody’s pastor on a conference call to seek their advice. After 3 hours of debating, it was clear that none of them knew what they were talking about or had any reasonable insight. In life, it’s your responsibility to know when people are being unhelpful and unrealistic, so I went to the next best sources for guidance: Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

I’d barely begun my search when I stumbled across a nugget of wisdom from some lady who advised, “Eat bread and desserts and just get all fat and sassy.” Clearly, this lady was after my own heart. I identified with her immediately. Although I’m allegedly working on my beach body, I would love nothing more than to sit back, eat bread, and be sassy. However, I didn’t think either of those things would clean my carpet, so I kept searching.

The next source recommended that I wear comfortable underwear. This was very intriguing. I pondered the connection between wearing comfortable underwear and being a better person. After a while, it started to make sense. At least once a day, my manager, my mom, and the Walmart greeter each tell me to stop getting my panties in a bunch. They are so wise.

While we’re on the topic, if I’m allowed to be honest, on most days I’m not even wearing panties. I don’t really like the word. It’s not that I have anything against panties, to each his own, but I’m more of a boxer shorts kind of guy. However, back in my stripper days, I was forced to try out other styles of undies. I learned quickly that boxers aren’t a crowd favorite. All the grandmas in the audience gave me way fewer quarters when I wore boxers than when I got more creative with my unmentionables. Surprisingly, grandmas really like thongs.

Another source I found recommended that I compliment myself more to become a better person. At first, the concept seemed weird and uncomfortable. I mean, what would I compliment myself about? “Whew, Michael, you sure ate that hamburger well.” Or, “Oh, Michael, the way you pushed that button on the elevator today was absolutely superb.” I was also a bit concerned about getting a big head. I mean, in addition to my being extraordinarily handsome, intelligent and overall fantastic, I’m extremely humble.

Eventually, I started to make the compliments about me specifically. Each morning I stand there in the mirror and congratulate myself on whatever jumps out at me. Sometimes I give myself props on the way my grey hairs divert attention from my crow’s feet. Sometimes I give myself kudos on the way my belly looks like there could be abs somewhere in there. The whole compliment process has added an additional 30 minutes to my daily routine, but if it helps make me better, I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end.

After days and days of giving myself compliments, I realized that my carpet still wasn’t clean. No matter how much I wished the stains would go away on their own, they just wouldn’t. After consulting my team of shrinks, I did what any normal person would do. I threw on my best underwear, turned on some Beyoncé, and got all sassy while working my vacuum cleaner. I figured it was a step in the right direction. The remaining ants agreed.

Michael Rochelle
Humor blog: http://www.humormike.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/michael.rochelle1
Instagram: humor_mike_
Twitter: @mikeyllo

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