Who’s the Boss?
I am fearfully and wonderfully made. All of us are, and every part of every one of us is. Kind of reminds me of a joke …
One day, all the parts of the body were talking about who was most important.
THE BRAIN SAID – “Since I control everything and do all the thinking, I am the most important therefore I should be boss.”
THE FEET SAID – “Since I carry him everywhere he wants to go and get him in position to do what the brain wants, I am the most important.”
THE EYES SAID – “Since I must look out for all of you and tell you where the danger lurks, I an the most important body part.”
THE HANDS SAID – “Since I do all the work and earn all the money to keep the rest of you going, I am the most important.”
Of course, everyone got into the arguments and the heart, lungs, and ears all say the same thing.
Finally, the asshole spoke up and pointed that he was the most important even though the others didn’t know it. All the other laughed and laughed to think of an asshole being boss.
The asshole decided to prove the point and refused to function. Blocked up tight.
Soon the brain was feverish, the eyes crossed and ached, the feet were too weak to walk, the hands hung limply at the sides, and the heart and lungs struggled to keep going.
All pleaded with the asshole to relent and agreed that the asshole was the most important and so it happened.
Moral of the Story: You don’t need a brain to be a Boss——any asshole will do.
About a month ago I got the result of a Cologuard test. It was positive. So my doctor urged me to meet with a gastroenterologist and have a colonoscopy. That occurred this past Friday. Turns out the Cologuard result was a false positive—apparently, they always show up positive once you’ve had polyps, which I’d had 7 years ago.
I wasn’t aware of how much that had been weighing on me until I noticed a marked increase in joy and gratitude, and a marked decrease in crotchetiness. I was even inspired by the multiple pictures I received of my innards, fascinated by the almost Georgia O-Keefe-ness of them. They were beautiful in a weird sort of way. Fearfully and wonderfully made. I texted them to my brother and joked that I might get one of them blown up, framed, and hung on my living room wall. “Disgusting” was his reply. He’s entitled to his opinion, of course. But he’s not the boss of me.