The Naming of The ... Ear?

It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway: my life is absurd. Rush not to defend me before you hear, in the words of Paul Harvey, "the rrrrrest of the story".

I'm a life-long bachelor; well, nothing particularly absurd there. I just ain't found the right one yet (thought I had once or twice, but various and sundry 'shes' disagreed). I live a low-key, simple, austere life. I have my virtues and my vices, one of which I'm trying to give up in the interests of a more balanced fiscal status.

In short, I'm boring, but I digress.

I like lots of things that other folks like. I do have one hobby that's a bit 'living life on the edge' -- tornado chasing for photos -- but I also have that luck that keeps me from getting into more trouble than I can get out of (so far). Except for that, not much absurd here, you probably think.

Then there's my pet rock. Seymour. Pictured above, posing with a 'mooovenir' for a friend in Japan, who owns and operates the Moooo! Bar on Shiraishi Island (an adult beverage emporium done up in contemporary holstein). Of course, she's not Seymour's only crush: he's got a thing for a writer/blogger who Drew Barrymore models herself after down in Texas, too.

But that's not the real absurdity in my life. The real absurdity is, my pet rock has now fallen for the souven"ear" I brought him back from Iowa. An authentic ear of corn. That's right: my pet rock is in run amok lust (my view) with an ear of corn.

And he is insisting that 'I' name her.

See, he -- Seymour -- has decided that the ear of corn is a 'she'. How he makes that determination is beyond me; for that matter, how I made the determination that Seymour's not a Simone is beyond me as well, but I sorta digress, not wanting to think too hard about this just now.

Are you beginning to grasp the absurdity here?

At any rate, I have a rock demanding that "I" come up with a name for this thoroughly amused (or possibly touched, in more ways than one) ear/earette. Trying to reason with a lust-struck pet rock is like...trying to talk to a rock in general. Those of you with teenagers can probably draw some comparable analogies, I reckon.

So...I guess I'm to have a lust-struck pet rock named Seymour, and his lastest 'lust puppy' earette of corn....named Jane.

Not that I am suggesting any remote resemblance between a pet rock, an earette of corn, and a famous actress. Uh-uh, not me.

Of course, I know of a way, I think, to relieve some of this absurdity that's overtaking my semblance of a life: I need a geologic psychotherapist.

Not for Seymour; for me. I really need to understand all of this. And where I lost control.

Particularly before I discover one day that Seymour and Jane have figured out the birds and the bees thing.

A rock and an earette of corn, you say?

I told you my life was absurd.