Tag Archives: Saturday

The blathering idiot did not know what to do with his letter form the university. It was addressed to him, but it clearly stated on the envelope that inside were “Exciting Summer Programs for Children and Adults in Your Neighborhood.”

Really?

What about him, the blathering idiot? Was he not entitled to Exciting Summer Programs”?

But if he opened it, how disappointed would he be to find no Exciting Summer Programs for him? He could just not open it and his summer would be fine.

Then Xenia found it.

Xenia was the eleven-year-old daughter of the blathering idiot’s on-again, off-again girlfriend Zoey. Sometimes she came over to stay with the blathering idiot for a while.

“Exciting Summer Programs for Children and Adults in Your Neighborhood”

“I thought maybe you would,” he said.

“I am not child in your neighborhood.”

“Not even when you’re over here, like right now?”

“But it’s addressed to you,” Xenia said.

“But it says its material is not for me.”

“Let’s call the university and see what they say we should do.”

The blathering idiot wondered why he hadn’t thought of that.

The university passed them from person to person, even once transferring them to the Chinese language professor, who was no help at all. Finally they were transferred to a man in the little known department of the studies of lost tangential and self-reverential marketing ideas.

“Actually, it’s a graduate course I taught uhm oh three years ago. I am uhm oh hoping to bring back it.” He had a heavy accent, though the blathering idiot was not sure where. It was as if the man had sucked down a vowel or two from everywhere he went.

“This envelope holds the graduate course you once taught?” the blathering idiot asked.

“It doves?”

“Isn’t that what you said?”

“I said that was course I taught.”

“And that course is an ‘Exciting Summer Program for Children and Adults in my Neighborhood’?”

“Could may be.”

“But not for me?” the blathering idiot asked.

“Who said?”

“The envelope.”

“The envelope talks to you?” the professor asked.

“No. It doesn’t. But it says—”

“Says?”

“Yes.”

“As in talk?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not my course. Good day, blather one.”

The line went dead.

“Well?” Xenia asked?

“Well, it may or may not be a marketing course.”

With that, Xenia took the envelope and ripped it open. She looked inside, then she looked at the blathering idiot.

“What is it?” the blathering idiot asked.

“Reading.”

“Okay, tell me when you’re done.”

“No. It’s about reading. Summer courses for children and adults,” Xenia said.

“Oh,” the blathering said.

“Phonics, too.”

“Oh.”

None of that seemed quite as exciting as he had imagined. He almost wished he hadn’t asked.