The other day somebody told me I was losing my mind; this was when I realized that I might have “milk of magnesia.”
I started writing this column and was suddenly greeted by a whole page of white — a sure sign of magnesia. A few days ago I found myself standing in the middle of my cellar with no place to go while I can’t recall what I was looking for in the first place, which is a classic sign of magnesia. Writing that last sentence is a sure sign of magnesia.
My wife is always telling me about stuff and when I claim no former knowledge she insists that she told me a while back and I forgot — another sure sign that I’ve got magnesia.
I became frantic and started to research magnesia on Google. There I found out that, as I aged, my brain had every chance of looking like a Swiss cheese — the holes being chunks of memory that get lost forever. I figured out a way to beat magnesia and the holes in my brain.
If they can build up and protect my teeth from further erosion, they surely should be cleaver enough to figure out some way to fill up the holes in my brain. I think I could make a pile of money if I could find a way to grind up old useless encyclopedia books and, by mixing the pulp with some mustard and superglue, fill in the holes in my brain, forestalling magnesia while leaving behind the fragrant scent of a delicatessen. This is a sure winner. See — my magnesia is getting better by just thinking about it.
I am starting to think that magnesia might be contagious. Just think back to the history of our federal legislators — nothing was accomplished because they all caught magnesia and couldn’t find their building, let alone their secretaries. Some people claimed the magnesia was so bad that our legislators couldn’t find their butts even if they were sitting on them clasped in their hands.