About 42 years ago, I went Christmas shopping with one of my cute little nephews. As soon as we went into a store he needed to go. I asked a clerk, “Where’s the little boys’ room?

She said, “It’s downstairs,” so we took off. I couldn’t find it, so I asked another clerk, “Where’s the little boys’ room?”

She said, “What size is he?”

I said, “That’s him right there.”

She said, “So you don’t know his size?”

I said, “No, I’ve never looked. I’m his uncle, not his daddy.”

She said, “I’ll go ahead and measure him.”

I said, “I’ve never heard of having to measure somebody to see if they can use the bathroom.”

She said, “What did you ask for?”

I said, “The little boys’ room.”

She said, “Oh! I’m so sorry! I thought you asked for little boys’ robes.”

Here’s hoping the country singer and his fan club got a Christmas chuckle out of that and also 109,999 readers of the Post. I figure at least one critic will get chafed.

Two weeks ago, a writer felt compelled to call me out as cynical and cantankerous. It confused me. Was it a complaint or a compliment?

I couldn’t comprehend being considered a curmudgeon, but I am clairvoyant. Let me explain.

On Nov. 28 I turned in my “Thankful” list to the editor of the Post. The letter with the cheap shot, “What are you thankful for,” wasn’t published until Nov. 30. So if you (letter writer) will read the Dec. 3 editorial page, you can confirm that I actually answered your very unnecessary and cruel question before you ever asked it.

Now with cathartic feelings, I’d just like to say if you gonna do me wrong,  do it right.

Mary, Merry Christmas.

— Whitey Harwood

Rowan County