When ever my eyebrows get too bushy, I think of those biggest brows of them all…  on good old Andy Rooney’s face.  However, the unruliness of my eyebrows is not really the point here tonight.

My mind goes from bushy eyebrows to Andy Rooney…. to Andy’s famous bit on the cotton which is stuffed in pill bottles.  I never saw that episode of 60 Minutes.  But that is the one they always use in the “clips” whenever they talk about Old Man Rooney.  I liked that guy and I miss him.

But sometimes, I used to think he could make TOO BIG of a deal about something.  So I never paid much attention to the cotton in the pill bottle spiel.  It simply had no relevance for me.

Until today.

I had to give Maxine a pill.  They came in a brand new plastic pill bottle.  And when I opened that cap… after pealing plastic wrap from the top… and then finally cracking the safety seal… low and behold….. I found a whole lot of cotton stuffed way down into the bottle.  Overkill in my estimation.  Especially when it comes to Doggy Estrogen.

(Yes, Maxine is going through men-o-paws….  but that story if for another night…..)

Back to the matter of the  cotton. “Well now.  I isn’t that something….”  I thought.  So I stuck my finger down through the top of the bottle to begin the retrieval process of the said cotton.  This was no good, I can tell you.  I began wedging that cotton further down in to the snare of pills below.  I realized I would need a tool.

Since I was in the kitchen, I grabbed a paring knife.  Well as luck would have it… I sliced my finger in the cotton-fetching-process.   I immediately began bleeding profusely from my index finger  (which doesn’t contain an index, by the way).  I’m not exactly sure how I cut myself.  But this I can tell you.  I was glad for all that cotton in the pill bottle….  which was now soaking up a great volume of this blood.

So at that point, I was a bit off my game.  I dropped the bottle, and luckily… with all of the blood soaked cotton in the top… only two pills managed to spill out.  Unfortunately…  the two dogs standing at my feet were NOT Maxine.  Yes, Frances and Ollie, the little piglets that they are… went after the pills.

I had to be quick on my feet here.  So I half-lunged, half-dove… in the direction of the two capsules.  This scared the bejeezus out of both dogs.  They scampered underfoot, totally knocking me off balance… and I crashed into the cabinets, spinning slightly, before skidding along the tile floor.

My lighting fast reflexes allowed me to scoop up both pills, as my face slid across the tiles.  I got a 10 from the  Russian Judge.

When I finally came to rest, I sat up on the floor, propped my back against the lower level of cabinets, and looked squarely into the bloody, dented, cotton-stuffed pill bottle in my good hand.

Now I see what Andy was talking about.  I guess he wasn’t over exaggerating.  Mr. Smarty Pants.

I began cursing cotton profusely.  I cursed the cotton balls, cotton plants, the cotton gin… and every last sappy cotton commercial.  I vowed right there and then.. to never, NEVER EVER, wear cotton again.  I took an oath to always stay hydrated and never be a victim of cotton mouth.  No more cotton anything. Not for me.

So tonight… when I sat down to write…I checked a few different sources for topic ideas.  And what popped up?  Today is the anniversary of Eli Whitney’s Patent for the Cotton Gin.

And once again…. the Universe Speaks.  Ever so subtly… but it speaks.

So as I got all jacked out of shape…. I was then reminded of some timeless words from old Billy Shakespeare.

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

And so it goes.  I could either let something like that ruffle my feathers for the rest of the day…. or I could laugh about it… and realize that I came out on the other side just fine.  Just fine indeed.   A few lumps and bumps… but in comparison to the obstacles a lot of people face each day…. this was just a blip on the radar screen.  A tiny thread of cotton.

And thinking made it so.