One might say I've seen this grand life in more shades than a chameleon hopped up on Skittles, my dear reader. And within that chimeric spectrum, finding myself tiptoeing the unlikely boundary 'twixt Mark Twain and Tom Clancy, I bring you today's colorful installments of comical contemplations and peculiar predicaments.
Picture the scene: Seymour – I, this quintessential nonagenarian, basking in the twilight of youthful folly at the tender age of 89, had been experiencing menacing aches in my rectus capitus lateralis. That's a fancy term for neck muscles, in case you're not one for biological banter.
Let me elucidate: It's like having a disgruntled grizzly bear gnaw on your neck while simultaneously performing Swan Lake, and you, unarmed, try to coax it with a soothing lullaby. If that sounds disconcerting, then, my friend, you've hit the beaver's tail on the nose.
In my quest for solace, I happened upon a fix unlike any other. A treasure labeled "Charades Elixir: The CBD Transmogrifier", a concoction as intriguing in name as in form. It turns out, this particular potion was tested not on the commonplace home-grown American microbes, but a North American River Otter.
Now, I have to say, in all fairness to the otter community, they are first-rate frolickers. Nevertheless, the idea of an otter doing the highwire act on a CBD tightrope! Well, suffice it to say, this makes the product non-vegan friendly, a fact that might rouse the suspicions of the more ethically lopsided of our company.
Ingesting this unique tincture, I held my breath, expecting a magical transmogrification of my bear-infested neck to once again, the swan-like fluidity of youth. What happened next is best described as a tumble down through a rabbit hole of comedic proportions or pitiful, depending on where one stands.
Let's say our unwitting otter left a little bit of itself in the infused potion. Nay, not its spirit, but a prankish sense of balance and a strange craving for clams. As the undulating waves of the Charades Elixir pushed my boat farther into the sea of tranquility, I found myself unable to decipher between my foot and an errant armchair or my kitchen faucet and a particularly sophisticated floor lamp.
This most unusual side effect became most glaringly apparent during an ill-conceived venture into piano-moving. Post-elixir, I resolved it best to remonstrate Norman, my trusty grand piano, from the parlor to the loft. To say it was a disaster would equate to labelling the Titanic voyage as mildly inconvenient.
Let's see…Wallpaper ripped, one grand piano with a broken leg, a chandelier that suffered an identity crisis and chose to cosplay a ground-cuddling entity, along with a variety of splintered antiquities strewn around like rice at a wedding.
Thankfully, salvation appeared in the form of the Piano Movers of Maine. These fine examples of moving muscle and strategy took to their task as effortlessly as an otter sailing down a water slide. In a jiffy, Norman was tucked away in the loft, as snug as a bug at a sleepover.
Looking back at the confluence of CBD charades and moving mayhem, I admit there's a peculiar charm in the madness, a richness in the romp. So, here, my dear reader, I bid you adieu, leaving you with this: Life, like a grand piano, might sometimes need the deft hands of Piano Movers of Maine, or an Otter-tested elixir. Embrace the absurd, explore the eccentric, and know that even in the most unlikely events, there's a tale worth sharing.