Stupid Questions; No, Dumb Stupid Questions

Sometimes I wonder; occasionally, I really wonder. Like this:

We had three World War I vets left in this country and one of them passed away recently at the age of 104, or something like that. The obituary notice said that the cause of death had not been determined. The cause of death, as far as I can figure out, was this: he was 104. That’s cause enough; why look any further. Did you think he was poisoned, or maybe shot? He just plumb wore out.

I’ve got my coat and hat on, car keys in hand and, inevitably, someone will ask, “Are you going out?” I stay nice and say, “Yes, doing some errands,” instead of, “No; I’m sleeping in my car tonight because the bed in my room is too comfortable.”

Or you are in conversation and someone asks about a subject with which you are familiar. I’m well-read and it occasionally happens that I can steer them in the right direction to learn more about it. “Oh, when did you get your degree in (whatever)?” Many’s the time I wanted to say, “I read widely and don’t get stuck in a rut like some. people. I. know.”

A lady came into our chapel during a choral performance and asked if the concert was here. I just pointed to the singers.

Then, again, I have to watch what comes out of my mouth. Do I see someone with a case of cat food cans and ask, “Do you have a cat?” (“No, I’m an abusive mother and feed this to my baby.”)