When I went to bed the other night, I was in a good mood, despite the chilly winds blowing up in a fury and the threat of foul weather. I slept like the proverbial rock. No silly dreams. Nary a sneeze nor a running nose. And no midnight phone calls.
Then, after a great breakfast, courtesy of my loving wife of 65 years, my roommate and I settled down to what I hoped would be a pleasant day. Happy 24 hours ahead. But, no! As I read the morning newspaper, my smile turned to a frown. An article on Page 1 informed one and all that we could expect snow; then, it went on to report that some medical researchers had said it was OK to shovel snow, but “for heaven’s sake, don’t jump out of bed to shovel it, because that could be curtains for your heart.”
Holy Toledo, Batman! That bothered me not a little. However, I calmed down after realizing that I would not be fool enough to “jump out of bed just to shovel snow.” Just as my temper calmed down, another page in the same newspaper announced that other medical researchers said drinking decaffineated coffee could play a role in boosting the bad cholesterol in a person’s body by 7 percent or more!
I said it again: Holy Toledo, Batman! That did it! I had a strong suspicion that my very own doctor had planted that piece in the morning newspaper because he had run out of ideas on how to get to me. After I suffered a stomach ulcer, he took away my cocktail hour. Then he removed the wine list from my dinner menu. He knew I was a chocoholic , so he banned all candy, laughing like this — Hah! Hah! Hah! – as he did it. Sugar and salt, he said, were definite No-Nos. Then, with another series of Hah-Hah-Hahs, he put me on a diet that sounded like Mahatma Ghandi’s fast.
However — and this is the point of this entire essay — he didn’t rule out decaf coffee. In fact, he recommended that I quit drinking regular coffee and turn to decaf whenever I felt the need for a breakfast drink. Of course, the breakfast drinks he really favored were grapefruit juice, orange juice, milk, and stuff like that there.
Ruling out decaf coffee was left, then, to those persnickety medical researchers, who, I muttered with a distinct grudge, probably had a lot of money in hot-chocolate stock or some other non-caffineated products. At any rate, I told myself that I’d be willing to bet a bundle that the researchers secretly drank half a dozen cups of caffineated coffee as they pondered how to phrase their report.
Reading the newspaper article that morning reminded me immediately of the classic story about that old curmudgeon of films, W. C. Fields. He was sitting at a bar one day, when his longtime bartending buddy asked him if he would have the usual double scotch on the rocks.
“Of course,” Fields replied. Then he proceeded to tell the bartender that he had just read in the newspaper that alcohol wrecked the linings of the stomach and the entire inner body, and that it was bound to shorten a man’s life. At that, the bartender scratched his head for a moment, then asked Fields:
“Well, does that mean you’re going to give up drinking alcohol?” Without a pause, Fields grunted and shot back at the bartender:
“Hell, no. It means I’m going to give up reading the newspaper!” (I’m still drinking decaf, 40 years after the doctor died!)