By Bobbie Glasheen

I would like a challenge match with, let me see ... Jack Nicholson. Hulk Hogan. I’ll bet my bad moods can beat their bad moods.

I challenge the entire Dachshund world as to who can claim the shortest legs in the world. Proportionately, of course. I would win hands and legs down.

That dude in Walmart last week. The one who was so loudly impatient with me when I could not get my charge card to perform. Fixing him with my best stink-eye, I asked him to meet me out back by the dumpsters. He didn’t show. See, scared to death. Rachel, take note.

Each month my crossword puzzle book offers one particular doozer called THE CHALLENGER. Funny thing, CHALLENGER is easier than the ones labeled MEDIUM. I am not challenged by the CHALLENGER. I am challenged by day-to-day living.

Epithets have no effect on the way the cards fall. Though they might relieve a little stress, epithets do not seem to make a whit of difference. I glare, I blaze away, I scream naughty words into the forest, make appointments back by the dumpster. For naught. No one and no thing gives a rat’s ass.

I am challenged by the personalities of Idyllwild residents. They are amazing, entertaining and insightful. Kind and good. And there I stand speechless, guileless and strangely calm in their presence. The fire of my annoyances flickers and dies. I look like a peabrain. Grinning like a doofuss, a complete dipstick. My weapons are but ridiculous playthings before this shining decency.

As Robert DeNiro would say, “You’re good. Ya’ know it. You’re good.” You are.