Dally en Route

At my most petulant, I can be quite the chemical. One thing, usually small, perhaps misjudged, but in no way ill-willed, and I'm off the good books, losing even the chance to explain. It gets my girders, I'll tell you. The following occurrence, however, is in no way an example, nor a rule-proving exception, of that pretty proven fact. No; it's this: Yesterday (or was it tomorrow?) ubiquitous Ben (hereon) was without his ubiquitous hat, leaving his top exposed. That was wrong, I knew that (as I knew (and know) that "ubiquitous" has been mishandled — though correctly — to such an extent that I'd advocate its permanent eradication, the penultimate of which — this notwithstanding — is superfluous). Like the boogie-to-the-boogie without the boogie-bang, Ben sans hat was an incongruous spectacle, not most because he'd shrunk a little in favour of a duller altitude. His insights were still prime Ben — "Why must every tone be dulcet?" being my favourite — but the naked scalp proved to be an almost insurmountable obstacle in the way of my Ben-schooled enlightenment. Unable to address the issue, I instead focused my attention on the other aspects of his person.
Thus: "Boy, you smell wonderful this evening."
"Pain me though it may to say, you ain't the first person to say that today," retorted Ben, with rhythm too good to go unnoted. Then: "Wait— Haven't you already done this with Harry?"
"Yes, but my readers' attention spans don't stretch back that far."
Ben emitted a smile-shaped grunt.
"I have to take issue with that," he said, "what with me being both your only reader and the person who reminded you of the prior post in question. And that's not even mentioning the time I caught you posting a re-run under a different title."
"But it was an ironic different title!" I protested.
"Irony isn't going to save you now, Hugh. You're going to have to face facts."
"Ironic facts?"
"Nope. Cigars though and through."
"Maybe on my death bed," I said, only half jokingly. I gazed around in that contrived, morose fashion of mine before returning to my quasi-gigantus colleague with "Tell me a story, Ben," and the cutest puppy eyes I'm capable of.
"Rightio," said Ben. "Yesterday, a dear acquaintance of mine said what I interpreted to be 'I issue profundity at ever turn' during a discussion we were having, fittingly about cigars. Consequently, I murmured an insolent 'if you do say so yourself' and stormed off to what I thought were greener pastures, only it turns out that what he actually said was 'I eschew profundity at every turn', and was, in fact, just him being coy. Now, coyness is something I certainly do not have a problem with, so naturally I hurried to patch things up."
"And did you?"
"Yes. All's well."
"Glad to hear it."
"Glad to tell it."
"Good."
"Good."

Like hair that needed it, we went our own separate ways, both looking back on the tenth step to not blow a kiss, and both regretting it later. Ben became a lawyer or a lawnmower, and moonlit as a psyche. I became mighty frank.

Words 196-211 are copyright Ben "Jay Mohr" Hansen, 2007, while 214-220 ever so slightly re-work a phrase of his origin. Any complaints regarding these portions should thus be forwarded to the Ben in question — unless, of course, you are the Ben in question, in which case I'll be gladly accepting any abuse you choose to apply to my person.