By: Wayne Brown
Hubber, Brian Slater, recently asked the question: “What goes through your mind when you head upstairs for bed?” I answered the question but only from a novice standpoint because I live in a one-story house and try as I may, I cannot find the stairs leading up to the second level. Anyway, Brian’s question set me to thinking how it would be if I could live in a two-story house so I thought that I would just write about it and let everyone know what might go through my mind.
Right off, I remember that George Jones and Tammy Wynette lived in a two-story house. I know that is for sure because they admitted it in one of the country duets that they sang together. When I listen to that song, I find it interesting that someone was able to find a link between living a lie and residing in a two-story house. It sets my mind wondering if I could write a song, get Stan Fletcher to pay the guitar and sing harmony. I think my song would be “We All Live In A Multi-Story Building”. I can’t decide whether to use a waltz beat or go all out and lay that baby down in four/four time. Listen for it on the radio and find out!
Beaver Cleaver lived in a two-story house. You have probably read of it in my story called “The Cleavers”. I worshiped at the altar of that house and longed to live there with “The Beav”. Beaver shared a room with big brother, Wally. I’ll bet that was all he could think of every night as he climbed those stair…’I sure do wish I had my own room’. You know they had three bedrooms but one was reserved for that sweet little aunt who came occasionally to visit in the summer. No way was the Beaver getting that room. No he was stuck with Wally until his big brother went off to college or better yet joined the army. Gee, that sets my to wondering that maybe if June Cleaver had got off her ass and grabbed a job, maybe they could have gotten a house with four bedrooms and then the Beav would have had his own room. The way she wore those high-heels, I’ll bet she could have gotten on down at the strip joint. Then Eddie Haskell would have come knockin’ saying, “Hey Wally, I saw your old lady down at the strip joint. She’s hot!” Yeah, I can see where living in a two-story house was stressful and now understand what June Cleaver meant when she would say, “Ward, I think there’s something wrong with the Beaver.”
Norman Bates lived in a two-story house with his dead mama. He could stand on the porch at his Bates Motel and see mama sitting in the window in her rocker. She was always telling Norman what to do and Norman did some very bad things. You could tell that it pissed him off to no end to have his dead mother hovering over him like he was a child. Maybe she would have not stayed so long if she could have gotten down those stairs or if Norman had lived in a one-story house. Somehow I think they would have never got the idea for the movie if the house had been one-story. I just don’t see it working out.
The “Desperate Housewives” all live in two-story houses. What a mess they have and it never ends. Crazy people move in and out of the neighborhood possibly because they might be attracted to two-story houses. People get shot, run over by cars, bound, gagged and held hostage, maybe even killed off. And to think, this is supposed to be a very high-end neighborhood. Just the pleasant little name of the street denotes serenity and the smell of fresh flowers…Wisteria Lane. Who would think such goings-on could take place in such a lovely little neighborhood. It has to be the two-story houses, there is no other answer.
Elvis lived in a two-story house. He called it Graceland. Women loved to go there and try to get through the gates and get into Graceland. I think it was because it was a two-story house, don’t you? Just look what living there did for Elvis. He was awake most nights. He loved to eat fried-nanner sandwiches with hot peanut butter and bacon on them. He was kind of like Norman Bates when it came to mama. He brought a fourteen year old girl home with him from Germany to live upstairs. I think that is the only reason her daddy let her come…the two-story house. Elvis took all those pills and gave most of his money to Colonel Tom Parker. He just was not thinking right and I blame it on that two-story house. You know they say when you fall face-first off the toilet in a two-story house, it makes a real loud thud. I wouldn’t know because I never lived in a two-story house and judging by what happened to Elvis and all, I probably won’t be looking for one.
The White House has is a two-plus story house. Not many people have lived there but many of the ones who have were really messed up. Lyndon Johnson took all the silver out of the money because he was afraid of werewolves. Richard Nixon was taping everything, well except that one thing that lasted about eighteen minutes if I remember correctly. Jimmy Carter brought his mama, Ms Lilly, with him. Come to think of it Jimmy reminds me a little bit of Norman Bates if he would just die his hair. Bill Clinton had a dog upstairs in his bed and an ugly girl doing funky things with cigars under his desk. Somebody said they thought he also had a pet but it was not allowed to sleep in his room. But wait, what about the dog in his bed…oh, you’ll figure that one out. Now, the guy that is up there now, his name evades me, they say his having delusions of grandeur and points his finger a lot. I think it has something to do with living in that two-story house. So much for me attending any White House dinners. Now you know why I have not run for the office.
My sister-in-law lives in a two-story house. I suffered grievous injury there. Having imbibed in a glass of wine while working on the computer upstairs, much as I imagined that Norman Bates would have as mama looked on, I decided it was time to head downstairs and get another. I picked up the wine glass and my dog and headed down stairs. Now my sister-in-law has carpet on her stair-steps, well, all of them but the last one. It is wood and I think she polishes it every day with some really slick stuff. Whatever it is that she uses, it does not work well when one encounters it in his sock-feet. I was tossed into the air feet first with my wine glass and dog in hand. I didn’t want to drop the dog and I couldn’t spill what was left of the wine so I just hung on to both. Luckily, I landed on my back. Unluckily, my left elbow smashed into the bull nose of the wood step. The doctor said it burst my bursa sac and I had to undergo the knife to fix it. I don’t like undergoing the knife and I hate being put to sleep and letting someone else fly the plane. That was several years ago and I still miss my little bursa sac. If my sister-in-law would have bought a one-story house I’d still have it too!
As you can see, I have a real problem with two-story houses. There are probably some of those psycho-analysts lying on the couch type doctors out there who would say that I had developed a fetish about it and need professional help and possibly treatment with some type of mind-altering drugs. Well I say this. If there is no problem with two-story houses, why the hell was Norman Bates so messed up? No, I got no use for them. Two-story houses are dangerous and about as useless as rubber lips on a woodpecker. There I go making reference to birds. Alfred Hitchcock would be proud. Did he live in a two-story house?
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