When people see me in my usual state...... the way I knock around here and in the woods.....that is without the sheet-rock stilts I wear under long pants when I travel or go to town....they expect me to have a tin-can voice, to be goofy and perky, with the intelligence and awareness level of a child: an attitude I expect from people and endure quietly.
But I really react rudely when I get called a "Little Person." If anyone wants to be called that, it's fine with me, but don't call me a "little person".
No offense to true little people, but, for the last time, I am not a fairy, a gnome, a midget, a dwarf, a child, nor can you say I'm generally diminutive. In important ways I am anything but that.
One way in particular. The big thing is that when I was young and hormones had recently been discovered, the Warren family Doctor McMurrary prescribed a regimen of a primitive growth hormone (I don' know if it was human or horse) on the theory that my legs, being the only part of me that was undersized, might simply have hesitated in their development , and that the hormones would provide the final push.....like the nipple on a party baloon.
Yeah, well, the treatments were halted after three months when it was discovered.....when I could not hide the fact that...... although the treatment had not caused my legs to grow, my dinglehammer had rampaged all out of proportion , especially for a "lad" (which is what the doctor called me, rather than"boy") of my technical height and supposed age.
In addition to a few painful knocks sustained before I got my first steel jock, the above mentioned Dinglehammer and his two henchmen have caused me a full flush of embarasments and pretty much constant inconvenience over the years.... but the General has done very good service, while also providing me with a gross of colorful adventures, which I definitely will not go into here.
But I wouldn't change a thing about the General.
Enough said...O.K.? I just had to get it out. Subject closed. I have spoken. Now can we please move on?
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