and if he was my uncle than he also was the brother of the widow's grown up daughter who of course was my stepmother...

(sing it with me now)

AND I AM MY OWN GRANDPA

Ever wonder how those brain cells that hold all of the really bad song lyrics and commercial jingles, etc., could be put to better use? Because I DO know all of the words to the Unicorn Song and Seven Old Ladies in the Lavatory, am I perhaps missing out on whether or not a tree falling in the forest makes any noise, or the sound of one hand clapping, or a keen undertanding of the Pythagorean theorem?

Oh, dear, what can the matter be...