MOPE

I recently rediscovered a tiny pillbox in my miniature collection. It seemed empty but a tiny pebble made a rattle. This was a kidney stone my wife passed in a White Plains hospital over a decade ago. I took it when the nurse offered. Hard to believe something so excruciatingly painful could be so insignificantly small. I am not sure why I saved it. The box is not labeled, the contents will be a mystery after I pass like a kidney stone, and the mineral deposit that caused so much trouble will be thrown out. Still I am powerless to toss it.

Perhaps I should have kept the nail that pierced my running shoe and caused me great pain. My wife and I could have put together a unique display of things that hurt. I never thought to retain my yanked tooth after a failed root canal and my two extracted wisdom teeth. I should have demanded my burst appendix from the hospital, like getting back a failed auto part. How do I know the doctor took out my appendix? It could still be in there. Maybe they pumped me up with powerful antacid and sent me home. I should have kept the Volkswagen Rabbit engine I ran out of oil and saved notices of a Bar Exam failure and a potential layoff. I could have asked girls to dump or reject me in writing. We did keep the three sons that caused my wife so much pain when she delivered them. They could be co-curators of the Museum Of Pain Endured. This partial listing is painful enough to be included. My quirky brilliant ideas always come too late. We could have become famous embracing pain as an opportunity to build a better museum.

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