Please God, Help Me to Mind My Own Damn Business

BACK in the days "Before AA" (my AA, that is), I was tossing down a long cool one in a gin-mill here on the Cape when my bleary eyes rested upon a wonderful sign above the back bar. The words were printed so that a fellow with at least one good eye could read them from across the mahogany. Having read them, anyone not too far gone could certainly take a bit of good old Cape Cod philosophy away with him as he staggered out into the world again. Not me, though. After I had adjusted my eyeballs so I could see the words, I read this little prayer: