I absolutely was not drinking whiskey when I bought two electric organs last weekend. And I almost never get bored enough to go out into the garden, cover myself with dirt, and pretend I am a carrot.
These are things I want to get clear before we go any further. Of course, some of you have better things to do than fool around with Facebook. If you are one of these, then you don’t need my explanation.
However, now that I’ve started it I’m going to explain it to you anyhow.
I actually did buy those organs: two beautiful, very heavy, full of tricks electric organs at an extremely reasonable price. I got them from Janet and Bobby Ratliff at Big Daddy’s Flea Market. They work perfectly. They were delivered Monday. We put the smaller one in the dining room at Cedar Lake Nursing Home, and the larger, fancier one in the big assembly room in the old nursing home.
I was so excited about getting them, I wanted to send a picture to Billy Bucher, our resident music therapy volunteer, so I texted him, and also posted the picture on my Facebook page. It was the next day before I noticed that above the picture on my page, it says, “Loretta Humble was drinking Whiskey.”
I don’t know where that came from, but I guess Facebook thinks that anybody who would go wandering around a Flea Market, and come back with two organs must have been drinking whiskey.
The other thing I have to admit is that I did post that “sometimes when I am bored, I go into the garden, cover myself with earth, and pretend I am a carrot.” But I have an explanation for this, too. I promise I wasn’t drinking whiskey when I wrote that, either.
You see, I have a crazy friend in Malaysia, a young man named Chris, who I got to know when we both used to contribute to a photo-sharing site called Stock Exchange. He first posted that thing about pretending to be a carrot on his page. I thought it was hilarious, and commented on it. Chris then messaged me, explaining this was a game, and I have been tagged, and unless I lacked a sense of humor, I now must post the same thing on my page. Well, no way I’m going to admit I don’t have a sense of humor, so I posted it. Then, of course, I was supposed to message anybody who commented or “liked” the post, and tell them they had to post it on their page, (not that most of you would have been a fool like me and do it.) But the thing got a little out of hand: between comments and “likes” at last count I had over 90 responses. I was not going to write that message more than ninty times. My Malaysian tormentor even agreed that was a little much to expect, so we compromised with my just putting my request with explanation right there with the other comments. So I’ll bet a bunch of folks who commented never saw “the rest of the story,” and are convinced, if they think about it at all, that I’m nuts, or that “Loretta Humble has been drinking whiskey.”
Oh well.