That reminds me of a story ....

I'd like to use this forum today to personally apologize to all of the poor souls who have had the unfortunate experience of conversing with me during the past three years. I just returned from the doctor's office and it turns out that I am sick, you see. Not well at all. Apparently I suffer from a rare disease the good Doc described as "Cantshutupitis." This is a dreadful condition that has been known to ravage unsuspecting stay-at-home parents dating back to Europe in the Dark Ages. There is no cure and the effect this disease has upon the public at-large can be devastating.

Here's how it works -- Shortly after beginning the glamorous existence of a stay-at-home parent, the unwitting victim undergoes a drastic transformation within the brain-system-thingy. The electrical impulses that run from the brain to the rest of the body go all screwy, and the victim begins to act like a grade-A dillhole during all social interactions. (Okay, I must confess that I'm not as smart as that last paragraph makes me sound. You see, I copied the symptoms verbatim out of my new textbook, "Hey Idiots! This here's the Brain!").

So basically the combination of utter boredom and complete lack of regular conversation with anyone over the age of three causes a stay-at-home parent to, um, act kind of funny when they actually leave the house.

A typical social situation goes something like this -- After spending around 30 consecutive days listening to "Wiggles" songs and vaccuming, a breathless stay-at-home parent leaves the house and enters a party filled with unsuspecting victims, er, people. Picture a starving dog pouncing on a juicy rib-eye.

Soon the first victim, er, person approaches and attempts to kick off a polite conversation. They might ask something innocent like, "How are you?" Now remember from the textbook that "Cantshutupitis" patients have screwy brain-impulse-thingys. Instead of hearing, "How are you?," the patient actually hears, "Tell me everything you know about the art of changing a diaper. And please, spare no detail! If you could ramble on for over 20 minutes, that would be outstanding!"

It's not the patient's fault I tell you! You've gotta believe me! It's a disease dang it!

Another victim/person might ask about the weather and instead receive an hour-long dissertation on the wonders of visiting the grocery store on a Tuesday morning, complete with Powerpoint and a slide show.

One poor lady recently made the inexcusable mistake of asking me about my wedding ring. You see, she noticed I had a tungsten-carbide band. What followed borders on harassment. Why she didn't find the complete story of how April and I came upon this beautiful ring as fascinating as I did, one will never know. Some mysteries are meant to stay unsolved.

I've battled "Cantshutupitis" for some time now, and I naively thought I had it under control. Until last Saturday night. The symptoms of my rare disease flared up violently and left a very nice couple seeking therapy.

April and I met said nice couple, lets call them "Matt Leinart" and "Kelly Ripa," for dinner at a local sports bar. I was meeting the adorable twosome, complete with matching blond hair and million dollar smiles, for the first time. Never a good situation for your's truly.

I am convinced the evening would have transpired without incident if not for one major problem -- "Matt Leinart" and "Kelly Ripa" happen to be a very quiet couple. There is nothing wrong with this. Unless you happen to suffer from "Cantshutupitis." The disease views a lapse in conversation as a challenge and attempts to overpower it by sheer volume.

I must admit I was in rare form that night. I enlightened these two poor souls with all of my knowledge regarding The Doodlebops, religion, hockey, Boston, former Idaho State University basketball coach Doug Oliver, food allergies, and I think I even described the strengths and weaknesses of the entire Arizona Diamondbacks pitching rotation. A true testament to the sheer power of "Cantshutupitis."

There was a point in the evening where I'm convinced that "Matt Leinart" was covering his ears while I explained the exciting financial benefits of grocery shopping at Winco. At the time I figured he was simply trying to block out the crowd noise so he could fully consume my every word. I tried to help him out by speaking louder and closer to his ear. A gesture he no-doubt appreciated.

I remember thinking what a nice couple they were while they sped off in their Outback, leaving smoke and rubber streak marks in their wake. It wasn't until hours later that I realized the misery I subjected them to.

So please allow me the opportunity to apologize to "Matt Leinart," "Kelly Ripa," "ring lady," and all of the countless others I've inadvertently tortured while battling this disease. Just know that my blabbering was never intentional and I feel really bad about it.

Kind of like the time I printed a kids name wrong in one of my sports articles. Hey, did I ever tell you about that. It's a great story! I was sitting in 100-degree heat during a scorching July afternoon in Mesa. There I was, sitting in the bleachers and sweating my head off, when the kids took the field for the first inning. The kids had these weird black jerseys, and I remember thinking it was so silly to wear black jerseys on such a hot day ...............................

So sorry kiddies!

- Dave

(By the way, if you find this even remotely amusing, please know that I am mercilessly, um, borrowing the wonderful humor-writing style of author Patrick McManus (who is from Idaho!). Please, please, PLEASE read one of his books. "Never Sniff a Gift Fish," is my favorite. Be aware that mastering the art of reading while laughing out loud takes time and practice. But don't worry, you'll get the hang of it!)