by Peter Loewer

Note: It should be remembered by those who have been following the exploits of The Curmudgeon, that before the transformation into his present character—and after a two-year sojourn in the US Army—he completed a degree in liberal arts, then worked around Atlanta for many years, first as an installer of quality drapery, next as a salesman for a major appliance outlet, followed by a stint (after taking elocution lessons) as an announcer and DJ for a small radio station (with a quasi-liberal bent that was located a few miles south of the city limits of that great metropolitan area), until, after choking on a Moon Pie (don’t ask), his voice developed a high-pitched tremor which led him to the US Post Office, then spending his final working years teaching in a local community college, where he excelled as a shop steward resulting in students producing some fine wood working and some rather odd metal sculpture.

“Rain again,” said Mrs. Storekeep as she mopped up some water at the store’s entrance, and just parking his truck we see The Curmudgeon mounting the store steps.

With flinty eyes flashing and cheeks tinged with a purplish hue, Curmudgeon stormed into the General Store, his dampened hat making speed lines like a character in an old cartoon and dripping remnants of rain, went back to his mail box, twirled the letter combination, opened the box and removed some bills, a circular for subscription rebate for The Wall Street Journal, and a large and colorful magazine.

Then silence reigned with only the sound of Mrs. Storekeep’s mopping and the rustle of flipping pages as Curmudgeon devoured the magazine’s contents.

The front door opened and Gasman (this month wearing his Ingle’s cap) and Cityfella entered then apologized for walking through the mop-up area and went over to the coffee urn for their morning dose of caffeine.

Spotting an audience, Curmudgeon let out with: “If these magazine people don’t beat all. I get this decorator magazine to keep up with what’s new in interior design but this issue is just too much! It’s called “Designer Secrets” and consists of one line hints at redoing house and home.”

“Like what?” asked Cityfella.

“A bench at the foot of a bed should be no less than two inches shorter than the width of the mattress.”

“So . . .” mused Gasman.

“Well, there’s no way I’m going to buy a new bench or a new bed if one is an inch too short.”

“Guess it has to do with tripping?” asked Mrs. Storekeep.

Ignoring her comment Curmudgeon followed with: “Dining Room chandeliers should hang sixty to sixty-six inches above the floor. Imagine, that’s five and a-half feet off whatever passes for a floor. Why you’d have to be eating on the rug to manage that.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Storekeep, “they mean above the dining table so that the light doesn’t interfere with dining.”

“Well, here’s another: Do not use colored sheers in your home—particularly those that are pea green. Imagine caring about the hue of scissors!”

“I think,” said the Gasman, showing more intelligence that he was ever given credit for, “they mean sheer curtains. I can’t imagine anybody working with trendy color who would ever think of using anything colored pea-green, even Heinz—chuckle, chuckle.”

Curmudgeon was cooling just a bit.

“Well how about making sure you display everything in your collection together?”

“My heavens,” said Mrs. Storekeep, “with your collection of Disney characters now numbering in the high hundreds, you would never pull that one off.”

“Not to mention all those PEZ Dispensers in the basement,” added Cityfella.

“I should have realized,” said Curmudgeon as he headed for the door, “that around here, high society fashion ends the other side of Statesville!”