Distractions During Surgical Recovery

I had a minor foot operation yesterday. In between bouts of pain (ouch) and intervals of drowsy Vicodin (aaah) I remembered two stories about worms to share before going back to bed to elevate that surgical-shoed foot. Why I thought about worms during such a time is unknown to me, unless it has something to do with the responsibilities that foot surgery is forcing me to worm out of.

Story Number One: My sister Lisa was six years old when she received a lesson in basic biology during first grade. Her teacher, Miss Harrison, told the class that worms were not male and female, but that each worm had a male end and a female end. Lisa came home and relayed this fascinating new information to our nanny, Mary. Mary knitted her brows, puzzled. "Both ends of a worm look the same to me. How would I tell which end of the worm was male and which was female?" Lisa looked thoughtful for a moment. Finally she answered, "I don't know. But," she grinned, "The worms know!"

Lola Flushpoole commented poetically by adding this:

Here comes the happy, bounding flea.
You cannot tell the he from she.
Both sexes look alike, you see.
But he can tell... and so can she.
Whee!

Story Number Two: A pastor called Duncan McHoot was giving a sermon on clean healthy living. On his pulpit he had four glass jars with lids on them and holes in the top. One jar contained a cigarette. The second jar had grain alcohol in it. The third jar held semen. The fourth jar had good soil in it. Rev. McHoot, before beginning his sermon, dropped one worm into each of the four jars. He then lit the cigarette and let the smoke fill the jar before removing the cigarette and replacing the lid. With the four worms now in the jars with the lids on, he told the congregation what was in the four jars. He then began to preach on healthy, moral living.

At the end of his sermon, he held up the four jars and with a flourish showed the congregation the results.

Worm in tobacco smoke: Dead.
Worm in grain alcohol: Dead.
Worm in semen: Dead.
Worm in good soil: Alive, healthy, and squirming.

"You see!" proclaimed Reverend Duncan McHoot triumphantly. "Here are these four worms. What does this tell you?" Fourteen-year-old Tiffany Blake raised her hand. "Yes, Tiffany?" said Rev. McHoot.

"Uh, okay, it looks like if I smoke, drink, and have sex, I won't get worms."