JanDunlap.com

I love how excited our cat gets when I open a fresh can of cat food. She comes running into the kitchen, her tail straight up, her little cat voice loud and clear, affection and love pouring off of her in waves. She’s energized, alert and ready to take on the world.

Ah yes, if a new can of cat food is being opened, it’s a good day.

It kind of reminds me of that warrior thing you see in movies. Like Braveheart, or the Lord of the Rings trilogy, or any other film spectacle of ancient war. It’s sunrise, all these manly men are gearing up their horses to ride into battle and they give each other the secret handshake and code, and then they say: “It’s a good day to die.”

Talk about enthusiasm.

Although, considering that the outcome of a ‘good day to die’ might actually be dying, I have to wonder what a ‘bad day to die’ looks like. Is it raining? Did the morning newspaper not come? Did the coffeemaker not come on even though it was preset? What, exactly, makes a particular day a good day to die for these battle-hardened warriors?

And what about the manly men who, even though others think it’s a good day to die, disagree? Do they wake up, look out at the sunrise, and decide they’d rather sleep in? Do they throw a cloak over their big manly chests, stumble out to the horses and tell their companions, “You go on. It’s not such a good day to die for me. Let me know how it goes.”

I can just imagine the rest of that conversation.

“Wait a minute, buddy. We decided last night that today was the day. We took a vote, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, but then I drank too much ale around the campfire, had a lousy night sleeping on the ground, and this morning I’ve got a hangover that’s killing me. It’s just not a good day to die for me.”

“So exactly when IS a good day for you? Are we going to have to work it into your schedule, or what? ‘Oh, sorry, next Tuesday is already booked – I’m getting my swords reforged. Oh, sorry, my mother-in-law’s birthday is Friday and I promised the little woman we’d go this year.’ What do you think this is, a tea party? We’ve got everyone assembled here, just waiting to go out and meet our enemies, and for you, it’s not a good day to die?”

“Oh, all right. Give me a few minutes to wash up, groom my horse, put on my armor, and then I’ll go. It’s not a good day to die for me, but heaven forbid I ruin everyone’s plans. Geez.”

They never show that part in those movies, though. The other thing they never show is good personal hygiene. All those warriors look like they could really use a bath. Their hair is stringy, their faces caked with dirt, their arms covered with mud. I can’t even begin to imagine how much grime is under their fingernails. The very idea makes me shudder in disgust.

Yes, I know, personal cleanliness was not a priority when they were camping out in the wilds waiting to go to war, and I also realize they didn’t have the antiseptic hand wash we have in our modern times. But they could at least go jump in a stream and clean up a little, couldn’t they? I mean, really, how hard would it be for the filmmakers to just hose the whole cast down now and then, and have someone say in a scripted line, “oh yes, that dip in the river really felt good, didn’t it? Now I’m really ready to ride out to war.” Then maybe I could watch one of those movies without sitting there thinking, “Man, these guys really need a bath. I wish they’d go wash their hair.”

In fact, I would really enjoy those warrior films a lot more if instead of saying “It’s a good day to die,” all the manly men would say, “It’s a good day to wash up.”

Then they could all jump in a stream, soap it up and rinse those manly chests clean. It would make their mothers proud. I know it would make my day a good one.

Irish Spring, anyone?