Eskewpades

NECKER BEDECKERS While hygiene remains a must for me, total isolation prompts no valid rationale for my wearing clothes. No fan of fashion, I’ve been pretending I’m a nudist. At ease, at ease. While you’re struggling desperately to unsee whatever image that conjures up, I’ll further confess that I’m not a “purist” nudist — I’ve also been pretending to don a necktie each day. Hilarity and unoriginality aside, it hugely grieves me to admit that I’ve become interested in the subject of neck accessories — not only to enhance my appearance, but to flaunt as a crafty camouflage. This pandemic has triggered what some call “a glorified house arrest.” Bored with twiddling my thumbs, I started poring over pictures in photo albums, truly scrutinizing many images that I used to merely glance at. As I’ve delved deeper, some of the the photos have dazzled me. I ran across pictures of my fraternal   grandfather, a city slicker and all-around snappy dresser if there ever was one.

ANALYTICAL LARRY By Steve Eskew Since childhood, I’ve been conflicted about hanging out with my cousin Larry. We’re connected by an absurd commonality––Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). We bonded when we were preschool brats and realized that we both tortured people with our eccentricities. Sometimes reluctantly, sometimes gleefully. As adults, we finally joined a therapy group. After each session, we concluded that we should count our blessings, congratulating ourselves that our OCD quirks weren’t a third as bad as the others’ in the group. In truth, ours were two-thirds worse. Back in the day, Larry and I never missed watching the TV show Monk, featuring Tony Shalhoub’s brilliant OCD detective. As our hero performed such unique tasks as polishing his lightbulbs and ironing his shoestrings, other viewers around us laughed. We saw nothing unusual at all. Didn’t everyone do that? Larry and I separately conducted ridiculous rituals, constantly cleaned and do