A Pocket Full of Pills

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Aspirin Cures Headaches. Many Other Pills Abound.

A pocket full of pills 

While watching Network Television several weeks ago the following short story appeared during one of their frequent commercial breaks. Men respond very quickly to any type of visual input and I was immediately engrossed in the story.

A middle-aged gentleman was out in his backyard trying to throw a football thru the center of an old tire swing. He kept missing the target. He threw high and outside; wide and to the right; low and to the left. He stopped throwing the football, ran into the house and took a little pill with a sip of water, and immediately returned to the backyard. Suddenly he was super accurate and each time he threw the football it flew straight as an arrow into the center of the tire swing.

The next scene showed him in a happy embrace with his wife. Our wives are always thrilled whenever their husbands get a raise and this fellow must have recently signed a professional contract with one of the Major League Football Teams.

Wow! I thought this was pretty amazing and I couldn’t wait to get some of these miracle pills for myself. I immediately called the toll free number and gave them my credit card information, name, address, and telephone number. I paid an extra sur-charge to have these miracle pills shipped overnight. I was almost giddy with all the possibilities these little pills would provide.

A few hours later this same commercial appeared and I called to my wife:

“Hey, Honey, come’er and see this.”

Miranda watched with rapt attention and was absolutely delighted when I informed her that I had already ordered these miracle pills and they would be arriving tomorrow. My wife normally doesn’t approve of many of the things I buy, but this time she gave me her wholehearted approval.

I tossed and turned all night, because what applies to football and passing would also apply to baseball and pitching. Miranda knew I was an “All Star” pitcher in college, but I’d developed control problems in my senior year and was not selected in the Baseball’s Major League Draft. Gosh, I still had a good fastball, a nifty curve ball, and a great change-up. Now I could finally resolve my control problems, if these little miracle pills worked as well in real life as they had in the commercial.

The Rockies have pitching problems each year and I was sure the Rockies coaching staff wasn’t bright enough to see the correlation between football, baseball and these little miracle pills. Yeah, some pitchers still use razor blades, Vaseline, and spit, but how many of them would have a pocket full of these little pills. This was my chance to finally make it to the big leagues.

The Postman rang our front doorbell shortly after breakfast the next morning. Postmen don’t always ring twice, because Miranda was at the door in a flash. She hadn’t been so enthused about me throwing a hard ball in a long time and it was exhilarating to see her so excited about reviving my baseball career. I arrived at the front door a few moments later and as I signed for the package the postman gave me a little wink.

I was a bit puzzled by this, but just shrugged it off as I returned from the front door with the package. I ripped open the package and started reading the directions. Hum, take one pill two hours before any encounter. The side effects for the little pills included: headaches, nausea, dizziness, earaches, and upset stomach. The disclaimer said something about if an erection lasted longer than 4 hours that I should consult a physician. I was hoping the disclaimer was some sort of a typo, because as a pitcher, I could live with a headache, earache, dizziness, and an upset stomach during a game, but the erection thing might require some kind of uniform modifications.

I informed Miranda that we had a few hours to get ready because there was a two-hour waiting period. She said she was going to go shopping and rushed out the door. Miranda returned about an hour and a half later with some packages from Victoria’s Secret. I was a bit surprised by her purchase, because I was sure she would have returned with a new catcher’s mitt from Gart Brothers Sporting Goods. I suppose I’ll never be able to understand women.

She then went into the bathroom and took a shower. Gee, I would have thought she would have wanted to take a shower after she got all hot n sweaty rather than before. I was a bit puzzled by her behavior, but that’s, okay, because my dad never fully understood my mother either. I must have inherited some kind of a genetic male thing from him.

I could hear the sounds coming from the bathroom after the shower went off. Miranda was humming and singing and making those soft, sweet sounding feminine noises, She always makes those neat “pffft”, “pffft” sounds whereas I’ll make all sorts of obscene noises and swear a bit when I cut myself shaving.

Miranda purred: “I’m ready!” as she appeared in front of me wearing the most provocative lingerie I’ve ever seen. I was surprised, shocked, puzzled, and somewhat confused. We can’t play baseball in the backyard while she’s dressed like that. What would the neighbors think, I thought.

Did I mention that men are somewhat visual creatures? My thoughts turned from fastballs and curve balls to the many soft, voluptuous, curves at hand. Baseball will just have to wait until tomorrow. Some games are rained out, some games are snowed out, and some games are pilled out. Gee, I think I still have control problems, but now it’s self-control.

Later that evening, while I was lying exhausted in bed, I could hear Miranda singing softly from the kitchen. Gee, we hadn’t gotten anything accomplished today. A few hours earlier I was thinking about Little Red Riding Hood and the many questions she posed to the wolf.

“My what big eyes you have.”

My what a long nose you have.”

“My what big teeth you have.”

Miranda posed many similar types of statements and questions of which I’m not at liberty to divulge at this particular time.

I keep wondering about tomorrow and if one of these little miracle pills will help me revive my baseball career. I can retrieve my old baseball mitts and balls out of the hall closet and Miranda and I can go out into the back yard and play catch. After all, they say that “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again.” Sure, why not. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I think I’ll ask Miranda.

“Hey, Honey, do you want me to take another one of those little

 pills tomorrow?”

“Sure, she replies, I wear my other outfit.”

Well, I just knew she must have stopped by the Sporting Goods Store this morning and got a catcher’s mitt. Gee, she must have gotten a baseball outfit also. It’s really nice when married folks can agree on something they have in common. I can still hear Miranda singing those soft, happy songs as I drift off to sleep thinking about the different stances and grips I’ll be using tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll warm-up with some “soft toss” before our long hardball workout.

Copyright 2006 Joe Kent Roberts -  www.talkintexan.com



Submitted: October 06, 2015

© Copyright 2022 Joe Kent Roberts. All rights reserved.

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Joe Kent Roberts

Hi Viv. Thank you so much for reading my story and your nice comments.

Mon, November 9th, 2015 1:38am

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