Red faced

Got a message from a nice lady who enjoyed my Wednesday column “Sympathy for the Dope Sick.” Such gushing praise. It went like this: “I usually can’t even make it halfway through your columns. They’re silly, stupid and they don’t make any sense. Not good. But this one was.” Aww. I’m blushing.

You got something in your hair

So now they’re saying that hand dryers in public restrooms spread fecal matter all over the place. Go figure. The way they describe it, it’s like a snow globe all up in there although . . . HINT! That ain’t snow! By the time they’re done hitting us with all these gross revelations, we’ll all end up using empty coffee cans in our cars instead of walking into the ick-flying death zones that are public bathrooms.

Mind you

I would never use an empty coffee can in my car for that sort of thing. I’m not an animal. I use a windshield wiper fluid container.

Say it, don’t spray it

In Auburn midweek, a guy called police to report he was pepper sprayed by an ex-girlfriend. That stings, but at least she didn’t scamper off with your credit card and post those photos of you all over the internet. Happened to a guy I know.

Chem free

So much was written about the brawl at Sapphire nightclub last week, I literally ran out of synonyms. “Fracas” is good, as is “melee,” “fray” and “scrap,” but you can only use them so many times before exasperated editors start calling you over to their desks and nobody wants that. I specifically avoided fun terms like “donnybrook,” “dust up” and “rhubarb” because I didn’t want to go anywhere near the editor cluster. Frankly, I’d rather blow-dry my face in a public restroom.

Mattress Firm coming to Auburn

I always wonder about people who work in mattress stores. I mean, how do you avoid taking your work home with you? You have your dinner, brush your teeth, stumble tiredly into the bedroom and BAM! There it is! Work stuff staring you in the face.

Robber grabs cash at Big Apple

This is what is known in the industry as a “YOINK!” crime. No guns, no cryptic notes handed to the cashier, you just wait until the register pops open and YOINK! And then a mad dash out the door. It ain’t elegant, but I’ll bet that thief had a solid $48.65 worth of fun that night.

Hey, wait a minute

You know what? Now that I’ve given it some thought, I don’t think that lady was complimenting my work at all. Silly? Stupid? Don’t make sense? I haven’t heard such hurtful words since my honeymoon.

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