The Squeezing of the Sphere

We learn a great deal about ourselves when we are thrust outside our routine. Our true nature tends to hide behind habitual events until something out of the ordinary forces it out into the open. And then, sightly or unseemly, we must deal with who we are – our true selves, in plain view for the world to see. Put in such a situation, I recently rediscovered something I already knew about myself.

On Sunday, we held an outdoor event for which the weatherman promised 100% chance of thunderstorms. That turned into a few minutes of light showers that didn’t dampen the event one iota. It did, however, make cleaning up on Monday interesting.

One of the things I had to do was pack up a thousand or so stress-relief spheres to be used at future events. The problem being that some were soaked and some were not and it was impossible to tell which ones were wet just by looking. I had to squeeze each one and separate the wet from the dry. This forced me out of my Monday work routine for a few hours.



When given such a mundane task, the mind begins to wander… at least mine does. As I squeezed sphere after sphere, I began to giggle a childish giggle thinking of joke upon joke pertaining to my situation. Guys always appreciate good sphere humor – which ranks just under fart jokes on the Official Male Scale of Wit & Whimsy (OMSWW). Unfortunately, I have no guy at the office with whom I can share such humor. In taste and decorum, I could not share my comedic stylings with my coworkers. Also, I’m trying to pull-off this professional façade and really don’t want to deal with one of those pesky harassment suits.

I am nearly fifty – a mature man by proxy, right?


I sat in my office squeezing my spheres and giggling, teeheeing, and chortling.

But one can’t keep such hilarity to oneself forever. Male humor at this extreme bubbles up and must be shared before the risk of explosion becomes too great.

So I started texting my jokes to my wife in between squeezes and I laughed uproarious guffaws as each one went through. The text conversation was completely one-sided. I figured with the amount of funny I was sending, she was probably having trouble typing as she heaved in laughter or could no longer see through the veil of tears streaming down her face. Maybe Verizon limits the amount of funny someone can receive like data minutes and they were blocking my texts!

Finally, she replied with just five simple words: “You are 5 years old.”


Boy Covering Face Hands Baby Emotions Boy Tie

And this is the fact I already knew about myself.


(Still confused, ma’am? Replace “spheres” with its more commonly used stress-relief moniker and you’ll understand. You can just roll your eyes and walk away now. But if you’re a man, “Yeah, I know. It’s freakin’ hilarious!”)


I’ve got some complaints. First, why on earth would God install a worthless organ that does nothing besides rupture and cause complications? My appendix has yet to burst, but we are all ticking time bombs just waiting for the that day.

Consider this:

735,000 Americans have heart attacks each year.

680,000 Americans have appendicitis annually.

We know the purpose and necessity of the heart. Further, most of those heart attacks are preventable through diet and proper attention. But we can do nothing about our appendix and we don’t need it anyway. What’s up with that?

While we are examining the superfluous, what is the purpose of eyebrows? Seriously? If you look that up, you’ll only get hypothetical channeling of sweat and facial expressions. Facial expressions – seriously? What would we possibly be if we couldn’t furl our brows, knit our brows, or raise an eyebrow?

Just for giggles, watch this little girl discover her eyebrows.


And let’s analyze the other “purpose”. Unless you have a unibrow, what good is it to have them separated – leaving a gaping hole in the middle for sweat to pour through? They are as worthless as a bow-legged goalie.

So, the only actual functional eyebrow is the unibrow – that people pluck, wax, and shave to get rid of because no one wants to get caught with an unsightly unibrow.


When I was a boy, my hair was so blond that my eyebrows were nearly invisible. In fact, I’ve been told that I checked the mirror often for them and wouldn’t believe I had eyebrows at all. My hair has darkened over the years and sometime in my early forties, I was sitting in the barber’s chair when out of the blue, she asked, “Do you want your eyebrow hair trimmed?”

We were friends until the point where she crossed that line. I silently pondered her question, finally deciding that she wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t need them trimmed and I elected to have her do so.

But this caused a stirring of several questions. Why do they grow now? Why does God mock us with ridiculous extra hair as we age? I bought a shaver to take care of God’s little joke from now on. It has a guard so that I won’t cut them too close and most of the time I remember to check it.

Then one day, I discovered a purpose for eyebrows!

As with many scientific discoveries, it happened quite by accident. A check in the mirror showed many crazy hairs and I pulled out the shaver – you guessed it, without the guard. In an instant, my right eyebrow was gone. I stood there looking at myself in disbelief just like when I was a boy.

Once one is gone, you pretty much have to shave the other to even it out.

And there it is!

The purpose of eyebrows is to keep people from looking at you like you are a complete moron. Because when they are gone, people sure do stare.