Phourit Gharl

Triumphance rarely conquers the spirit of the wide-ranging pituitary-minded poltergeist wrangler in his heartiest of times (from the Belgian Riviera to the Spanish beer mines the proletariat sent their kids to one fine Summer evening only to find that mines aren’t as fun as they’re cracked up to be); I find myself drawn toward the lively canary fields from my youth, where the kids and elderly alike would frolic in ways suitable to their particular stations. I would perform amateurish somersaults and insist that I would one day be a gold-medal gymnast, knowing full well that I’d probably have to settle for silver and a life of overall mediocrity, even though producing a silver medal in and of itself is quite impressive (from a layman’s standpoint).

Nevertheless, the frolicking would continue into the wee hours of the afternoon, when both the youths and the elders would need to be put down for naps by their respective caretakers. At such a bizarre turn of events that would otherwise be considered contrived, the caretakers would have a brief period of time all to themselves while their wards blissfully recharged their batteries. Seeing as how I was never awake under these circumstances, I have no idea as to what my au pair would have been doing at the time of my napping. However, I do have several theories being batted around in my head (not unlike the 1927 Yankees’ unfair demonstration of offensive firepower). I won’t bore you with the sheer volume of my ruminations, as those would only serve to emphasize my madness. I will, however, provide a few of the “greatest hits”, as it were.

But not today. That’s for a different time. For you see, in the time it took me to describe my aversion to pointing out the minute details of my meandering mind, the youths and elders have already awoken from their sun-drenched siestas, relegating their caretakers to once again looking out for soiled diapers and skinned knees/broken hips. Ah, well… c’est la vie, meine Freundin.

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