Bossa nova. (Ditto.)
Funky chicken. (Had not done funky chicken in years.)
Cartwheeled through living room to kitchen. Cooked four-course dinner while speed-reading collected works of James Joyce. Learned to speak French fluently in hour after dinner. Ran five miles at five-minute-mile pace. Cleaned basement. Painted den. Learned to play guitar. Wrote dozen songs. Yodeled while taking shower. (Never had yodeled.)
Suddenly felt exhausted again.
Put number 23 on front and back of pajamas. Put on pajamas. Never slept better.
Next day, more of same. Wrote first novel in morning, epic saga of old sea captain chasing after white whale. Sold novel in early afternoon for seven figures. Sold movie rights in late afternoon for eight figures. Wrote screenplay while riding 30 miles on stationary bike. Fit in round of golf. Shot 71, including first eagle and first hole in one. Became computer literate. Went on-line. Learned to sail. Learned to juggle. Two-stepped to country music. (Never two-stepped before.) Put on number 23 pajamas. Slept like baby.
Expanded horizons in ensuing days. Car had been giving me trouble. Painted number 23 on side of passenger door. Car purred like Siamese cat. Probably could qualify for Indy. Wrote 23 in dirt next to dandelion-filled lawn. Eighteenth at Augusta National does not look any better. Shared secret with my kids. Asked them to wear number 23 T-shirts, just for me, just as an experiment. Kids put on shirts, immediately turned off television sets, cleaned rooms, did homework, including projects for extra credit, and then asked about possibility of taking violin lessons. Shared secret with neighbors. Neighborhood became most beautiful neighborhood in town. Neighbors shared secret with other neighbors. Town became all-American city. Entire atmosphere changed. Potholes repaired. Mail delivered three times per day. Merchants greeted customers with smile and a pleasant anecdote. Customers always had exact change instead of credit cards for purchase of two newspapers, pack of gum and one Tootsie Pop. High school undefeated in all sports, heading toward state championships. Scholarships available for everyone. Dancing and yodeling abounded.
Only problem seems to involve family dog. Dog has been tired, slow, moping around house. Resembles old me. To remedy condition, placed dog on kitchen table. Used clippers to inscribe number 23 on both of sides of dog. Waited for results. Nothing happened. Waited more. Still nothing happened. Called doctor again.
"What did I tell you?" doctor said. "Isn't that number 23 the cure-all of all time?"