Researching the 'garbage'

The Melville Flash was fuming. She had discovered my stack of research materials.
"So, you call this research, this is garbage," The Missus said in her most dictatorial tone. Quickly, I tried to hide the latest copies of the 'National Enquirer' and the 'Globe' from her sight lines.
"But, I was just trying to dig out a column for THE paper," I muttered.
"Sure, you were," she retorted, with a slight sneer. And then she followed it up with "So, Big Boy, what did you learn from these sordid tabloids?"
"Well, Martha's going to wed some tycoon after dropping a whole bunch of pounds," I said.
"Hey, let me see that."
The Missus was hooked. I had mentioned those magical words about someone losing weight.
Maybe, I can get out of this mess, I thought, as I quickly turned to Page 26 of the 'Globe'.
"See," I said, "just look at this headline, 'Domestic diva sheds 75 pounds to bag billionaire Mr. Right.'"
"How'd she do that?"
"Well, it says right here that a chef from one of New York's upper-crust restaurants put the 63-year-old household queen on a delicious but effective diet."
The Missus wanted me to read on. So I did.
"Martha had ballooned to almost 225 pounds, and when she landed in jail she decided to get her weight under control for good. By dieting and doing yoga, she's lost weight. And now she's ready for a slinky wedding gown and a new life with Charles."
"So, who is this Charles guy?"
"That's Charles Simonyi, the billionaire computer genius," I said, smugly, as if I travelled in those circles.
Since I knew any talk of losing weight would get her interest, I started thumbing through the National Enquirer and boom! there on Page 66 the headline bellowed: 'Stomach surgery saved my life and helped me go from size 78 to 18.'
"I don't think I should read this story," I said.
"And, why not?" came the reply.
"Well, this woman ... her name is Debra Joines ... underwent gastric bypass surgery. It seems ol' Deb used to weigh 619 pounds and after a 16-hour operation in a New Orleans hospital, she woke up with a new stomach, held together with 450 stitches and staples, and now weighs 223 pounds."
"Maybe, you should have the operation," The Missus said, in her most endearing voice.
"Maybe, I should."
"Well, what else is there in that rag?" she asked.
"Look at this. There's a new Graceland report that claims that Elvis' body is gone."
"Really," she said.
"That's right, there's some yahoo from Missouri who spent 2,500 of his own smackeroos to run DNA tests on tissue samples taken before and after Elvis' death and they don't match."
Of course, The Missus didn't want to hear my Elvis story for the 387th time.
But you haven't heard it, have you?
Well, a long time ago, it had to be in the 1970s, when Elvis was a part-owner or backer of the Memphis Southmen of the World Football League, a gang of us from Toronto found our way to Memphis for a game in the Liberty Bowl where we had a chance to visit with some friends such as former Toronto Argonauts head coach Leo Cahill and quarterback extraordinaire Dick Thornton.
Following the game, there was an invitation to show up at a Memphis mansion and we were assured Elvis would be there.
As the Toronto gang exited the Liberty Bowl, I looked toward the stadium elevators and saw the top of Elvis' head and then he was gone.
Incidentally, Elvis never did show up at the mansion.
And now you know my Elvis' story.
"So, what else is in the Enquirer?" The Missus asked.
"Well, here's one just for you, Sweets."
I began reading a story entitled: How to banish age spots.
"It says right here there's a lot you can do to banish those ugly brown blotches on your skin."
"So that story was just for me?" seethed The Missus.
And now you know why I slept in the spare bedroom the other night.

FINALLY FROM UNCLE JOHN'S BATHROOM READER: Covering a yawn -- People once thought that their souls -- or perhaps even their life forces -- could escape during a yawn. They covered their mouths to prevent this and, since yawns can be contagious, to try to keep people around them from "catching" the yawn. The apology after a yawn originated as an expression of regret for having exposed people to mortal danger.