“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call, The Twilight Zone.” ~~ Opening sequence of the early 60s iconic TV show, The Twilight Zone
I offer for your consideration an elderly gentleman somewhere in the heartland of this country. For the moment he has gratefully forgotten the onrushing anniversary of his appearance on the only habitable planet revolving around a minor star, in a minor solar system, in a minor galaxy, in a dimensionally challenged universe.
He sits enthroned on his favorite recliner, the ice cubes in his glass of lemonade rattling in his left hand, his right clutching a remote control. For the moment he is enraptured by a random professional bowling tournament on his television. It is at this instant that his spouse saunters into his man cave and asks for the 42nd time in the last month, for what feels like the 1000th time in their long and generally blissful marriage, “whatcha want for your birthday?”
She simply has not accepted his statement that he does not need anything, that he does not want anything, and that he would thrilled to not be reminded that he is another year closer to his final exit.
Feeling vaguely peeved at the 42nd iteration of the same question and remembering a short story that he read once upon a time, he pops off in what he thinks is a satirical tone of voice, “a ménage à trois?”
One of the reasons this man’s wife is a much happier person than he, is that she frequently misses such negative signals from people. Whether this is from a preference of hers or simply the inability to see such things, he has never figured out.
She looks at him funny for a minute then says, “with two women?”
Thinking to himself that she obviously missed the sarcasm dripping from every letter of his response, then thinking, “in for a penny, in for a pound,” he responds, “sure, why not?”
Pausing to grab a breath, she begins to laugh riotously and derisively.
The blood rushing to his face, the venerable senior citizen asks, “why are you laughing so?”
“Because,” she replies, “that is a check you cannot cash.”
“Well,” he avows, “I will just take my business to another bank.”
Somehow she manages to laugh even more derisively, finally emphatically spitting out, “another check that you cannot cash.”
El viejo manages to dethrone himself and tries to scoot around his wife to leave his man cave muttering, “I am going to trade you in on two twenty year olds.”
His wife thinking the conversation has become a bit recursive, strikes a pose like she is thinking out loud and says, more or less to herself, “surely he knows that he is not wired for 220, surely?”
Addressing him directly she pronounces, “now that is a check that would bounce higher than the St. Louis Arch.”
His warming face coloring the same shade as Busch Stadium during a Cardinals playoff game, he sputters out something about arranging a derailment of his model railroad train with her in the engineer’s seat, and begins to run for his happy place.
She calls after him in what was surely the final straw, “don’t forget your towel.”
A while later, after listening to an hour of metal mashing onto metal, she thinks, “boy am I glad I could not fit into that N scale train engine.”
Sublimation… a force for good or a force for evil, you tell me.
hahaha