By Bob Huber
June is my lucky month. It has Father’s Day, my wedding anniversary, and my birthday all rolled into one long cigar. I’ve always held June in high esteem.
One thing that makes me feel so good about June is the fact that I was born this month as a boy instead of a girl. Now that’s what I call lucky. What if I’d been born some other time? Why, I might have been a girl!
Not that there’s anything wrong with girls — I lived comfortably with one for 51 years — but look at the alternatives:
As a guy I get to keep my family name no matter how many times I marry, and my the garage — French for do-it-yourself testosterone proving ground — is all mine. Also wedding plans take care of themselves, and chocolate, beer, and pepperoni are good healthy snacks.
Plus, guys can become heavyweight boxers if they lean that way, and they never have to worry about getting pregnant. Even auto mechanics sometimes tell me the truth.
You can see why I think June is my lucky month.
Also I never have to drive to the next gas station restroom if this one is just too icky, and lines on my face add to my character. And while fancy evening dresses cost ladies $500 or more, I can rent a tux for $30. And while we’re discussing clothing, I’m not bothered by guys ogling my chest.
Well, I could go on and on. So I think I will.
A guy can emit an occasional well-rendered belch, because he has a lovable crude side. And phone conversations are over in one minute flat. Plus, I only need one small bag for a five-day trip.
What’s more, I can open jars and get exorbitant praise for that simple act of chivalry, and I never have to ask directions, especially from strangers.
Incidentally, my shorts cost $8.50 for a three-pack, and more than four pairs of shoes in the closet would be an unacceptable display of wealth. I never have strap problems in public, and I don’t see wrinkles in my clothes or dust on my desk. My hair style lasts for years — in my case decades — and while I’m at it, I only have to shave my face, unless I want to exercise my freedom of choice concerning a mustache or beard.
Want more? Well, I can play with toys all my life — they just get more expensive as I get older — and my handsome stomach shows that I’m a hail fellow, well met. Also my fingernails get along just fine with the infrequent use of a pocket knife.
Still more? Well, guys carry a reputation of being hard to buy for, which makes gifts for me more expensive and elaborate. I love it. But a guy can shop for a dozen relatives on Christmas Eve, because everyone understands he has bad taste.
Is it any wonder that I like June so much? We Juners have to be the luckiest guys.
Take our horoscopes. If you’re born in June, you’re either a Gemini or a Cancer, both of which are highly intelligent. If you’re called on to be a little ill tempered toward certain people now and then, it’s OK, as long as you’re big enough to back it up.
Naturally some historic guys were born in June. Take John Masefield. You probably don’t remember John Masefield — not many people do. In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find one person on the streets who ever heard of John Masefield.
Of course, if they shut down the local Air Force base, it’ll be difficult to find anyone on the streets anyway, so John Masefield really isn’t an issue.
Instead let’s go right ahead and celebrate Adam Smith’s birthday in June. He wrote “Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.” I’ve never met anyone who actually read that book, but several claim to have seen the movie.
The Battle of Waterloo took place in June, but the French won’t talk about it. They’re testy that way. Waterloo just naturally stirs up bad feelings about June, like a popcorn hull stuck in your teeth. But the French are always looking for something to gripe about anyway.
When my wife Marilyn ran things around our house, she always harassed me for praising June so much. “There are other months, you know,” she’d say. “Like April.”
“Yeah, but June has my birthday, Father’s Day, and that’s when we got married.”
“You’re right,” she’d say. “So what are you getting me for our anniversary?”
Bob Huber is a retired journalist living in Portales. He can be contacted at 356-3674.