One thing I got in my arsenal of verbal weaponry I'll put up against anyone is my truth str*e***æ**tcher.

*Mhm.* Hell yes I will, it's patented—undefeated. I can stretch the truth in my sleep! Planes, trains, a basketball game, nowhere's off-limits. I'll do it right now, watch: *I almost died last night.* Jackass The Movie was on. I'm laying in bed, winding down for the evening, Pura's sound asleep next to me. I've seen Jackass before but it's been awhile. Joint's about half gone. I reached over to put it out and grab the remote. I was just about to turn it off when that part came on where they trap Bam in a horse trailer with a giant king cobra. Death. Me. Almost. Not because of a movie I've seen, I know how it ends. What happened was, instinct kicked in; I reacted defensively to the slithering demon and my whole body flinched like someone said Covid in the middle of a serious conversation cuz if there's **ONE THING** I avoid at all costs it's waking up my wife. Turn the water cold mid-shower, forget to pick her up after work, engage in political jargon with her grandfather are all horrible ideas with consequences but none risk life like waking her up mid-sleep. Instant regret? Absolutely, but almost died is probably stretching it. Probably. Lie, however, like the moral compass my existence revolves around can't be trusted couldn't be further from the truth—I saw the funniest name I've ever seen the other day.

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**Phil Deese**. That's not it but I shit you not I met that dude. Seriously, I'll tell you about Sherry in a minute. Real nice lady actually, she filled in for my therapist last week. 39 years she's been practicing but first you gotta meet Phil and Dick.

2007, I'm working in Las Vegas, up and down Aria Tower goes me as I'm being introduced to all of the hands on site. My day was about over when they handed me the job stewards business card. Don't hesitate to call, they said—Phil Deese, it said. I fake laughed. *'Phil Deese?' Yeah, ok, and I'm Hugh Jirection.* No one laughed. About 10 of us are huddled around the office trailer and no one acknowledged my joke as though I'm not the only Hugh Jirection on payroll. > Yeah, Phil, good Union man. Easy to get along with, too. Anything you need, don't hesitate, he's available 24/7. *Deese, like 'these,' his name's Phil Deese?* Again, they just agreed, lazily shrugged their shoulders like I'm the new guy who won't stop repeating his self and shook my hand, "nice to meet you." "Welcome," and went back to work. Dear Phil Deese: If there's an award for coolest name ever, you got it in the bag. Dick, however, not so much.

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**Dick**. I've met a handful of Dicks, worked with a couple too. I said 'with,' *worked with.* Never understood why they don't go by Rich or Richard or Ricky or Forestfuckin Gump or anything other than Dick but, whatever, that's on them. I'm at a yard sale, sifting through old vinyl records. I found a Rappers Delight LP that day—true story. Anywho, there's an older dude there, his name's Dick. I was in my early 20's that day so, when I say older dude, he was probably around my age now—pushing 50. He's hitting on a chick about 20 years younger than him. I'm not eavesdropping, it's a yard sale, I can't avoid overhearing their conversation. I know his name cuz she kept saying it; "Hi, Dick!" "Very nice, Dick." "Thanks for that, Dick?" "Come here often, Dick, what's your number?" She wants his phone number. Dick gave it to her. He's gettin some tonight, I thought, without unveiling what I think. "What's your last name?" Asks the much younger and attractive, seemingly interested chick who's feeling Dick - phone in hand - ready to plug it in. > Burns. *Mhm.* No fucking way! Thinks me in not-so-incognito fashion that time, he said **Burns!!!** I wasn't given enough time to wrap my head around what just happened. It's not a big yard, the whole sale is in the driveway. Oh, they heard me. I fake sneezed and coughed and grabbed my throat like I was having an allergic reaction—best improv I could muster on short notice. I've maintained composure in the past when someone does something in public that should be a podcast like screaming Hoverchair lady who put on a helluva performance at the phone joint cuz they were having a buy one get one promotion all weekend so she went the fuck off about nothing in that store's free and aliens, big brother, they should all be ashamed of theirselves and electric vehicles, GMO's but this was ***not*** one of those times. I laughed real loud out loud. To this day I've always assumed she didn't call him. He's probably shopping for love somewhere right now. Tough to imagine much dating success with a name that sounds like it hurts. And then came Sherry, Dick don't stand a chance. I checked the spleling two or three times without getting caught staring, it said the same thing every time.

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Karol told me all about Sherry—medical field for 39 years, really nice, senior physical therapist, academic this and academic that. Physical therapist, I have weekly *physical* therapy. My name was called. She met me at the entrance counter and shook my hand, "hello, I'm Sherry, I'll be filling in for Karol this week." Sherry has nice teeth, I'm weird about grills. And reddish-orangish hair. I'm not weird about reddish-orangish hair, that's what color hers is. Introduction - small talk - sit across the desk from each other - get comfortable. She unwrapped my arm first, then my hand, exposed the new incisions and did some evaluating. Between her assessment and Karol's notes, we're ready to begin treatment. That's when I saw her name tag—left shoulder / my right. It's not Sherry with an S-H, it's Sherry with a C-H and it doesn't have a Y, either. C-h-e-r-i. Last name. You probably got it already in 2.. • 1. •

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