Have you ever had your spouse come up to you and ask, "Are you depressed?"
I don't get depressed, but that doesn't stop my wife, the beautiful Judy Licht, from occasionally playing the "depression card."
I am, by nature, a happy, slightly smug sort of a guy.
However, unless I'm smiling like an idiot every second of every minute of every hour of the day, Judy says, "You're depressed."
"No, I'm not," I answer with a smile.
"Yes, you are," she insists. "Is it age-related?"
"Okay, okay, you're right," I answer. "I'm depressed and it's age-related. This morning I looked in the mirror and realized I have reached that age and stage where the hair in my ears is growing faster than the hair on my head. That is, if I had hair on my head."
Then she said, "Making jokes like that is a sure sign that you're depressed."
"Okay," I answered. "If it will make you happy, I'm going to work on being depressed just so you stop bothering me."
So I found out that if you work at it, you too can be depressed.
Here's the depression list I made today:
I'm depressed because Barack Obama apparently did not have enough class to invite two Kenyans from his father's homeland – Geoffrey Mutai and Priscah Jeptoo, the man and woman who came in first in Sunday's New York City Marathon – to the White House for a good old-fashioned Kenyan celebration.
I'm depressed because Michael Bloomberg, one of New York City's great mayors, is leaving and he's about to be replaced by a Commie, pinko, bed-wetting freak.
I'm depressed because after this year's election New York City is about to go back to the dark ages with Bill de Blasio as our mayor.
I'm depressed because a great man like Police Commissioner Ray Kelly will be replaced by some political hack.
I'm depressed because in the end those "Occupy Wall Street" idiots have won. New York is doomed.
I'm depressed that there are still some smart, decent people (many of them good Democrats) who actually believed Obama when he said that under Obamacare if they liked their insurance carrier and their current doctor they could keep them, PERIOD.
Soon Obama will say that he "misspoke." Don't believe that for a second. He out-and-out lied.
I'm depressed because Obamacare is the first step in the largest redistribution of wealth in the history of our nation.
I'm depressed because Obama's nose doesn't grow like Pinocchio's every time he lies.
I'm depressed because if Obama ran for the Presidency tomorrow, he would, once again, win easily.
I'm depressed because it's the end of Daylight Saving Time. So for one lousy extra hour of sleep last Sunday we're now faced with darkness, cold and snow starting at 4:45 PM every day for the next five months.
I'm depressed because my football Giants suck and they won't be a good football team again until they fire their lame, knucklehead defensive coach Perry Fewell.
I'm depressed because for the second week in a row I have allowed Judy to talk me into going to the beloved East Hampton Cinema to see a horrible movie that I had no intention of seeing.
First there was The Counselor, which had no redeeming value except for the wild sex scene in the first four minutes of the film.
This week she pushed me into seeing Twelve Years a Slave, a movie I vowed to never see.
So I went because I'm a wuss. Twelve Years a Slave is about a disgusting period in our history. Seeing the horror that blacks had to endure 153 years ago will rightly inflame blacks who see this movie today. That's sad because if we need anything now it's not more anger but better understanding and more love between races.
There is nothing in this film that Harriet Beecher Stowe didn't cover when she wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin. She exposed slavery and was a pivotal figure in ending it.
Twelve Years a Slave will change nothing -- it's Uncle Tom's Cabin on steroids.
There are scenes of brutality and whipping that only a sadist could find worth watching. I kept my eyes closed through three-fourths of the film. I'm sorry I went. Don't make the same mistake.
So I just showed my depression list to Judy. She thinks I should seek some help.
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