Cookies, Chickens, Frogs & More

Sometimes I get a kick out of unusual observances and holidays. 

            This past Sunday was Mother’s Day, of course, and International Nurses Day, but also Limerick Day, National Nutty Fudge Day, National Doodle Day, Hug Your Cat Day and Odometer Day.

            Monday was Frog-Jumping Day; Tuesday was National Chicken Dance Day.  You DID dance in celebration, didn’t you?

 

           Among the observances on Wednesday were Straw Hat Day, Turn Beauty Inside Out Day, Nylon Stockings Day and one of my favorites, National Chocolate Chip Day.  It’s too hot to commemorate Nylon Stockings Day (for those of you who still wear such things) but it’s never too hot for chocolate chips. 

            And then there’s this: The Headless Chicken Day is always the third weekend in May.  (Yep, it’s called “day” even though it’s two days.) 

            According to the sponsoring organization’s web site, the event is based on a true story about a Wyandotte rooster named Mike.  On September 10, 1945,  Leon Olsen, a Fruita, Colorado, farmer, used an axe to make Mike headless so that the rooster would be his family’s dinner, but rooster Mike “continued trying to peck for food.” 

            The festival celebrates Mike’s example, noting that “you can continue to lead a normal life, even after you have lost your mind.”

            If those folks in Fruita ever make the festival a week-long affair, they can celebrate The Headless Chicken Day along with National Chicken Dance Day.  Quite an observance, wouldn’t you say?   

 

---------------------

It's Been 12 Years . . .

            Today marks 12 years since Dad died. 

           Just the other night, several of us were sharing some funny stories about Dad, and we laughed ‘til we had tears running down our faces.

            We talked about the old green Studebaker Dad used to drive.  Well, actually, it wasn’t just green.  Dad had used a spray gun not far from the car to paint something white.  While he worked on whatever that creation was, white paint splattered onto the Studebaker, changing it from solid green to green with white dots all over.  He left it that way.

            And the outside of the Studebaker was the better part of the car. 

            Once the door to the car opened, one could see an emptiness – of sorts.  Dad had removed the back seat from the car.  What this meant was that we children had to either stand in the back or sit on the floor when we rode in that car.  Yes, this was before seatbelts and other modern conveniences. 

            We also had an old Pontiac convertible.  Or perhaps it was an Oldsmobile.  I just remember it was from the late 50s or very early 60s; it was tan; and it was l-0-n-g, like most cars of that era.  There was an expanse of tan between the back seat and the trunk. 

            And it was in the trunk that Dad had placed the old back seat that came out of the green-and-white Studebaker.  Dad had removed the cover or top of the trunk from the long convertible and put the Studebaker’s old bench seat in that empty cavity.  When we rode in that green seat way back in the trunk area, it was like traveling in a separate vehicle; we were that far away from the driver!

            Yep, as Mom said the other night, Dad is still keeping us laughing 12 years after his death.

Do Your Ears Hang Low????

            I remember it like it was yesterday. 

            And why shouldn’t I?  After all, Mom looked at me – and then just laughed.  And laughed and laughed.

            Finally, she looked at me, pointing near my face, and said, “One of your ears is lower than the other one.”  And then she started laughing again. 

            Through her chuckles, Mom told me to look in the mirror to see for myself.  So I did.

            Sure enough, once I looked, I could see that one ear was lower than the other.  The only way for them not to be uneven was to tilt my head, but I quickly decided I couldn’t go around the rest of my life with my head tilted.

            And then Mom asked, “When did that happen?”

            Well, gee, Mom; I just don’t know when that happened.  I mean I didn’t go to a doctor and ask to have one ear lowered or anything like that.  I guess I was just born this way.

            For decades, I didn’t know my ears weren’t even. 

            Now, as one might imagine, I can’t look in the mirror without noticing that one ear is lower than the other.  I’ve even changed the kind of earrings I wear so that the “ear difference” won’t be as noticeable. 

            At least that’s better than keeping my head tilted. 

            And I’ve quit singing that childhood song that starts “Do your ears hang low?”

Waffle Wife

Want a good laugh? I don't usually post links but this one should make you laugh out loud. Be sure you have sound turned on. It's called "My Wafflely Wedded Wife." http://www.flixxy.com/wedding-ceremony..htm.  Funny, Funny Wedding Vows - here
Click either link above.  It's not a virus; it's just a short, funny video. 

Once Is NOT Enough!

            All kinds of titles have been running through my mind during the last two weeks or so.

            One is the 1973 best-seller by Jacqueline Susann, Once is Not Enough.  Another is a 1965 song (and 1995 movie), It Takes Two.  Yet another is the song The Second Time Around, first made popular by Frank Sinatra.

            Why have these particular titles been on my mind? 

            It’s because I had a hemorrhoidectomy two weeks ago today – and it was the second time I’ve had the procedure done.  That’s because once really wasn’t enough.

            The first time was two years ago.  The surgeon didn’t do exactly what he was supposed to do.  And, no, I won’t be more explicit than that because this is a family site available to all ages.

            After almost two years of problems – following a terribly painful recovery period - I found a different surgeon and underwent the procedure again.  Now, about a week later, I’ve still had a painful recovery but I was more comfortable six days post-op than I was almost six weeks post-op last time.

            So, the second time around has been much, much better.  What hasn’t changed, though, is the substance of the comments and messages I’ve gotten, like someone saying, “At least the surgery is behind you now.”  Another message was from a friend who said she hoped I wasn’t all “pooped” out!

            Yep, even the second time around, I’ve been the butt of everyone’s jokes.

 

 

             ~                              ~                                   ~

Giggling in Church

            Note: Some names have been changed – well, you’ll see why.

            Mom and Becky were down for part of the weekend.  As is typical of Mom, she started telling us stories from way-back-when.  This one is funny, if you can get the mental image from the story.

            It seems that, quite a few years ago, it was time for the church service to begin at St. Peter’s Lutheran Church, just off of Hwy. 378 west of Lexington. The choir was robed and waiting at the back of the sanctuary to process in during the first hymn.  Mom and Mary Lou were at the front of the double lines.  The organist was already playing the first hymn’s introduction.

            That’s when Mom and Mary Lou spotted Mr. Jacob Smith, sitting in his usual pew with “Miss Rose,” as she was affectionately called.  And that’s when Mom and Mary Lou got so tickled they couldn’t hold their giggles inside. 

            It seems that Mr. Jacob, like just about every other man back then, had worn his Sunday hat to church.  Mr. Jacob’s hat must have been an old one, because when Mr. Jacob got inside church and took his hat off, the felt lining had remained on his head, like a faded and flat crown covering his balding spot. 

            So, there Mr. Jacob sat, up near the front of the church, ready to stand and sing, with the felt lining still on his head. 

            And that’s why Mom and Mary Lou processed in that Sunday morning, giggling instead of singing.

~                                          ~                                              ~

Popcorn and Plans

            Ah, the best laid plans.

            Yep, you know the rest of that, don’t you?  It’s the saying that “the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” 

            Taken from a Robert Burns poem and a John Steinbeck novel, the saying, of course, means that, sometimes no matter how hard one plans, things just don’t work out according to those plans.

            Here’s my newest “best laid plans” story:

            Iris, a really good friend, and I like to get together to play Buzztime Trivia on Wednesday afternoons.  This particular trivia game is played throughout the US and Canada in restaurants, pubs and other such establishments. 

            Iris and I usually go a neighborhood family pub (O'Lacy's) late on Wednesdays and then The Duppster joins us after work to play a round or two of trivia.  Typically, we’re out of there by 6 pm or 6:30.

            Last week, the two grandsons were staying with us.  They are just-turned-four (Harrison) and 17 months (Fisher.)  I didn’t want to tell them we were going to a pub or anything like that. 

            Since this particular pub has free popcorn, I told Harrison and Fisher we were going to the “popcorn place” where we could eat popcorn and have fun.  They were excited! 

            Iris was in on this temporary-name-for-the-business scheme.  She got to the pub a few minutes before I arrived with the two grandsons, so she told the owner what was going on.  When the boys and I walked in, the owner said, “Welcome to the Popcorn Place.”

            As is normal for late Wednesday afternoons, there weren’t many people there.  We all had popcorn while Iris and I played trivia.  Everything was working out just right.

            As we were leaving around 6 pm, several other people were coming in.

            That’s when Harrison exclaimed, “Boy, this bar sure is filling up fast!”

            This bar?

            So much for the Popcorn Place.

              ~                     ~                      ~

Oh, For a Bed!!!

            So, here’s the deal: we bought a new bed.

            Well, it wasn’t actually a “new” bed but it was new to us.  It’s a four-poster rice bed found at a consignment shop.  We waited until price dropped even more to make the purchase. 

            We also waited until The Duppster measured to see that our box springs and mattress would fit, since we had a king bed but were buying a California king.  He said they would.  He measured and assured me they would work.

            Guess what?  We got the bed home and the box springs wouldn’t fit into the space on the used/new bed.

            This was a Sunday night so there wasn’t much we could do, other than sleep on the floor or sofa.

            On Monday I bought box springs (Dupp said the mattress would definitely fit) and they were to be delivered on Tuesday, which meant one more night of alternative sleeping arrangements.  Or “non-sleeping” arrangements.

            Box springs were delivered Tuesday morning but they weren’t the size I ordered.  The delivery guys took ‘em back.

            When I called to get the correct ones delivered, the lady on the phone said I’d get a call to schedule delivery within 48 hours.  Forty-eight more hours???  By the end of 48 hours, we hadn’t gotten that call.

            In the meantime, I suggested to Dupp that it might be more comfortable (than the floor) if we’d put the old box springs sideways across the bed frame and then put the mattress on top, that, too, going crossways. 

            Dupp did just that, bless his pea-picking, Yankee-moved-South heart.  The bed looked odd but was certainly better for sleeping – for a while.

            I got up in the middle of the night to, um, answer nature’s call.  When I got back, I couldn’t get up into the bed.  It was too high. Or I was too short.  I couldn’t even get a knee up on the mattress to help pull me into the bed.

             I didn’t want to wake up The Duppster, so I went into our office to work for a while.  After an hour or so, I got sleepy, went back to the bedroom and tried again.  No luck. 

            I got down on the floor to try to sleep.  Before long, I heard Dupp moving, so I quietly asked, “Are you getting up?” 

            He groggily mumbled, “What?”

            I asked if he was getting up to go to the bathroom.  He replied, “Where ARE you?”

I told him I was on the floor, that I hadn’t been able to get up in the bed and needed his help.

            For the next 15 to 20 minutes, I laughed or giggled uncontrollably.  I couldn’t stop.

            Hey, I told him I thought marriage should be fun!

            And, by the way, he had measured the mattress, which did fit.  He just hadn't measured the box springs.

Just hilarious! See if you can read it without laughing . . .

Mom forwarded this.  It's so funny that I just had to share: As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although his kids' stockings overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty. One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go, you'll only confuse yourself. I was there an hour saying things like, 'What does this do?' 'You're kidding me!' 'Who would buy that?' Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour. Finding what I wanted was difficult. 'Love Dolls' come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for 'Lovable Louise.' She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a 'doll' took a huge leap of imagination. On Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. I went home, and giggled for a couple of hours. The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy, but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. We all agreed that Louise should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner. My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. 'What the hell is that?' she asked. My brother quickly explained, 'It's a doll.' 'Who would play with something like that?' Granny snapped. I kept my mouth shut. 'Where are her clothes?' Granny continued. 'Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran,' my brother said, steering her into the dining room. But Granny was relentless. 'Why doesn't she have any teeth?' Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, 'Hang on Granny, hang on!' My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, 'Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?' I told him she was my brother's friend. A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home. The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the mantel, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa. The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants. Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car. It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember. Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise's collapse. We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health. I can't wait until next Christmas.

Celebratin' - Novels, Horns, Peanut Butter & Banana Pudding

Have you celebrated yet? 

            November is National Novel Writing Month.  I’m guessing you probably didn’t hunker down and write a novel this month.  At least not yet.  I didn’t either.

            It’s also National Life Writing Month.  Now I’m not certain exactly what that means; after all, we can’t script our lives.  And we can’t rewrite our lives, although many of us might like to rewrite certain chapters in our lives.

 Perhaps this is supposed to be a time to write your autobiography.  Did you do that?  No, I didn’t either. 

But I did finally realize one of my dreams: I got a book published, so I’m officially an “author.”  Yippee!

Yes, it’s a small book.  It’s not scholarly (no surprise there, huh?)

May I share? 

See, I subscribe – at least today – to the old proverb: “He who tooteth not his own horn, his horn not get tooteth.”  So, yes, I’m sharing, i.e. tooting my own horn. 

But I’m also tooting the horns of 18 others.

The book is Don’t Pick Up The Ham With Your Fingers: A Little Book to Do Momma’s Naggin’ For Her.  (I’m better at naggin’ than at tootin’.  Did I just actually write that????)

The book of humorous and occasionally serious naggin’s is illustrated throughout by work from 18 talented folks, ranging from a sixth-grader to retiree.  I am overwhelmed by their talent.

These folks, all South Carolinians, are from Prosperity, Aynor, Chapin, Surfside Beach, Summerville, Greenville, Charleston, Mt. Pleasant, Conway, Myrtle Beach, Columbia, West Columbia and Lexington.  Maybe there's a future Grandma Moses, Jasper Johns, Andy Warhol or even Michaelangelo in there!

We’re doing our first book-signing this week.  It’s a new adventure for most of us and we’re having fun.  And, yes, of course, we hope YOU find a copy somewhere.

By the way, November is also National Peanut Butter Lovers Month and Banana Pudding Lovers Month. 

I celebrate those all year long!

--------------------------------------

Win a FREE Copy of the New Book!

We're have a little Giveaway Contest on the book's blog, so come on over for your chance to win the book.  And, if you don't want a copy, come on over for a visit.  This is a new experience, so your support is needed, wanted, appreciated! 

http://hambook.blogspot.com/2011/11/win-free-book.html

Word Play - or Forgetfulness?

Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain.

Sometimes my mouth works – and the brain is totally idle, as in off duty.

Admittedly, these statements don’t surprise folks who know me well. Those folks would include members of our adult Sunday School class, which I’ve been “teaching” for several years.

This past Sunday, as we discussed callings and vocations, I said my sister had a child with Alzheimer’s.

Class members snickered. They knew I meant to say “autism” instead of “Alzheimer’s.”

Well, I understand that autism and Alzheimer’s are not laughing matters, but when I think about saying that a woman has given birth to a child with Alzheimer’s, the thought is a little comical.

There are other words I confuse for no apparent reason. Like hysterectomy and hemorrhoidectomy. Believe me, I’ve had ‘em both; they most definitely are not the same.

Another example has to do with house-hunting. The Duppster, my fabulous hubby, is a craftsman of sorts. He wants to build things – furniture and such. So, we’ve been looking – leisurely and casually - for a house that includes a workshop.

But I mistakenly said the other day that we are looking for a place with a “warehouse.”

Talk about storage possibilities - a warehouse.

Wow! Isn’t that every woman’s dream?

~                         ~                          ~

Shang-a-Lang, Shotgun Shuffle and Short Fat Fannie

Today, the 27th, is “Quirky Country Music Song Titles Day.”


Based on some of the songs I’ve heard, this ought to be a month-long celebration instead of one day only!

I started thinking about some of the funny country music titles and then those thoughts turned to all kinds of songs, not just country. These aren’t necessarily humorous songs but just titles that I find amusing. Also, there are some hilarious songs out there, but the names aren’t necessarily funny, so I didn’t include them.

Do you remember any of these? What others do you recall?



♪ If Money Talks, It Ain’t On Speaking Terms With Me

♪ AEIOU and Sometimes Y

♪ Sam, You Made the Pants Too Long

♪ I’m So Miserable Without You, It’s Like Having You Here

♪ Who Threw the Overalls in Mistress Murphy’s Chowder

♪ Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed

♪ I’m Gettin’ Gray From Being Blue

♪ Stray Cat Strut

♪ I Don’t Know whether to Kill Myself or Go Bowling

♪ No Diggety

♪ How Could You Believe Me When I Said I Loved You When You Know I’ve Been a Liar All my Life?

♪ Jubilation T. Cornpone

♪ My Mommy Said Not to Put Beans in My Ears

♪ I Still Miss You Baby, But My Aim’s Gettin’ Better

♪ Bell Bottom Blues

♪ Yes, We Have No Bananas

♪ John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt

♪ I’m My Own Grandpa

♪ Who Put the Turtle in Myrtle’s Girdle

♪ Red Necks, White Socks and Blue Ribbon Beer

♪ I Bought the Shoes that Just Walked Out on Me

♪ They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Ha

♪ I Wish I Were a Woman So I Could Go Out With a Guy Like Me

♪ One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

♪ I Wanna Beer as Cold as My Ex-Wife’s Heart

♪ My Boomerang Won’t Come Back

♪ Mama Get The Hammer, There’s a Fly on Papa’s Head

♪ The One on the Right is On the Left

♪ What Made Milwaukee Famous Has Made a Loser Out of Me

♪ When the Lightning Struck the Coon Creek Party Line

♪ If Whiskey Were a Woman I’d Be Married for Sure

♪ She Came In Through the Bathroom Window

♪ Forget the Night, Help Me Make It Through the Door

♪ Angels Flying Too Close to the Ground

♪ If My Nose Were Full of Nickels, I’d Blow It All On You

♪ She Got the Ring and I Got the Finger

♪ How Come Your Dog Don’t Bite Nobody But Me?

♪ Snooker Loopy

♪ Snookeroo

♪ You’re the Reason Our Kids Are So Ugly

♪ Beat Me Daddy, Eight to the Bar

♪ Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellen Bogen By The Sea

♪ I’m Sorry I Made You Cry But At Least Your Face is Cleaner

♪ Champagne in a Dixie Cup

♪ Poor Dog Who Can’t Wag His Own Tail

♪ Her Teeth were Stained but Her Heart was Pure

♪ Son of Hickory Hollers Tramp

♪ If You Can’t Live Without Me, Why Aren’t You Dead Yet?

♪ She Made Toothpicks Out of the Timber of My Heart

♪ If Fingerprints Showed Up On Skin, Wonder Whose I’d Find on You

♪ Bony Maronie

♪ I Haven't Gone To Bed With Ugly Women, But I've Sure Woke Up With a Few

♪ I’m Left, You’re Right, She’s Gone

♪ All My Exes Live in Texas

♪ A Pub With No Beer

♪ I Thought She Was Out Jogging, But She Was Running Around On Me

♪ Be-Bop-A-Lula

♪ Sleeping Single in a Double Bed

♪ Where Will the Baby’s Dimple Be

♪ I Keep Forgettin’ I Forgot About You

♪ Some Kind-A Earthquake

♪ The Purple People Eater

♪ Tennessee Wig Walk

♪ Milk Cow Blues Boogie

♪ Short Fat Fannie

♪ Gave Her My Heart and a Diamond and She Clubbed Me With a Spade

♪ Some Days It Rains All Night Long

♪ Still is Still Moving to Me

♪ Barney Google With the Goo Goo Googly Eyes

♪ Somebody Bad Stole De Wedding Bell

♪ She Blinded Me With Science

♪ Never Do a Tango With an Eskimo

♪ Simon Smith and His Amazing Dancing Bear

♪ Shotgun Shuffle

♪ Puddin’ n’ Tain

♪ Shoplifters of the World Unite

♪ Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer

♪ Shakin’ Your Tree

♪ The Size of a Cow

♪ Rockin’ Pneumonia, Boogie Woogie Flu

♪ Pants on the Ground

♪ Jeepers Creepers, Where’d You Get Those Peepers

♪ One Inch Rock

♪ Shake for the Sheik

♪ Nothing On But the Radio

♪ Set the Fire to the Third Bar

♪ AbbaDabba Honeymoon

♪ Peppermint Twist

♪ Shang-a-Lang

♪ Pickin’ a Chicken

♪ Seven Little Girls Sitting in the Back Seat

♪ Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?

♪ Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie

♪ Pain is So Close to Pleasure

♪ Arrested While Driving Blind

♪ Ay Ay Ay Ay Moosey

 
                  ********

Well, It Wasn't "Howdy-Doody!"

In my last post on this blog, I wrote about some of the crazy messages left on answering machines when callers were asked to leave a shoe size.

Well, there’s more, but not about shoes, although still about answering machines.

There was a time, quite a few years ago, when I asked callers who wanted a return call to leave name, phone number and the name of a favorite TV show.

This was before there were oodles of channels and all kinds of offerings.

A friend from church called and left his name, phone number and said his favorite show was “Baywatch.” Yep, that’s the one that featured shapely females who were somewhat scantily clad. Then there was a second call from the same man; this time he said, “Sherry, don’t tell my wife what I said about my favorite show. P-l-e-a-s-e.”

I think about those two calls every time I see him.

One lady caller took forever deciding on the name of a show to designate as her favorite. She literally had a long discussion with herself about whether to leave one program or another or another. Obviously this woman took the instruction quite seriously and wanted to be sure she had her absolute favorite recorded. Maybe she thought there was a prize or something.

The first President Bush – George H. W. Bush – called while he was still vice president but running for president. Along with a message, he left the name of his favorite show. No, I’m not revealing what it was.

After that call, I changed the message for a while to the following: “Hi. I know you don’t like answering machines, but if the vice president of the United States can leave a message, you can, too, so please leave your name and number.”

  ~                   ~                   ~                    ~

Telephones & Shoes

There was another one of those wacky holidays earlier this week. It was “Inane Answering Machine Message Day.”

Boy, did that ever bring back memories, mostly funny ones.

Back before just about everybody had a cell phone, we had an answering machine on the home phone.



Now, bear in mind that I’ve always believed in having fun in life, turning the bland and ordinary into something to smile – or even laugh – about.

For a long time, the message folks heard on our answering machine when they called in asked them to leave name, phone number and shoe size. You simply would not believe the number of people who left shoe sizes. One person even explained her shoe sizes.

One Sunday, the vicar at our church asked if I had a collection of shoes that I was looking to match up with people!

One caller left a message explaining that her shoe size depended on what kind of shoe it was, and she went into a lot more detail. That was one hilarious message.

An old friend I’d not talked to in ages, left his response, revealing his shoe size, then adding, “Sherry, you’re just as crazy as ever. You haven’t changed a bit.”

I returned his call the following day. When he answered the phone, I simply asked, “Is this shoe size 11?” He laughed and laughed.

Oh, yes, I had fun with this, but there was a negative side. I spent a lot of time looking at people’s feet after that, especially if someone revealed an especially large shoe size or a size that seemed exceptionally small or wide or whatever.

One thing’s for sure: this made listening to messages at the end of the day something enjoyable rather than something to dread.



*                              *                          *                        *

You Know How I Am About Words!

Just returned from the grocery store.  Shared on Facebook this photo I took at the store but thought I'd also share it here on the blog. 

Just FYI:  I did NOT buy any of the advertised special!

~     ~     ~      ~     ~

Celebrate with the Duck!

We all have reason to celebrate today.  That's because it's World Laughter Day. 

Just in case you might have trouble getting started with your celebration, here's a clip to help.  It's Buddy Hackett on the old Johnny Carson show.  Stay tuned 'til the end for the duck story! 

Ready to Celebrate?

There are some celebrations that I’d just rather not be a part of. Know what I mean?

For example, March is “Adopt A Rescued Guinea Pig Month.” More power to those who participate; that’s just not my thing.

It’s also “National On-Hold Month.” I have no idea about details. Is it to celebrate being put on hold when you call a business, government agency, doctor’s office, lawyer’s office or even an individual? In my little ol’ opinion, that’s not something to celebrate or even to be happy about.

March is also “National Clean Up Your IRS Month.” Is that a message being sent to us as individuals or is that a message we’re sending TO the government? I vote for the latter; what about you?


Another observance during this third month of the year is “National Craft Month.” That’s one I celebrate but only because I truly appreciate and admire those folks who are so talented in the area of arts and crafts. I’m just not a crafty person. Wish I were, but I’m not. Maybe when the good Lord was giving us options, I volunteered for laughs instead of crafts.

Which brings to one of very favorite reasons to laugh and make merry: this is “International Mirth Month” and “Humorists Are Artists Month.” I’m a strong believer in the power of humor and laughter. Sometimes I even laugh when I shouldn’t. I just think most of us need to lighten up; we shouldn’t take ourselves so seriously.

Yes, I know these are difficult times, but for most of us, there’s a least one reason to laugh every day – even if it’s just looking in the mirror!

You want to feel better? Take a one-minute break right now and laugh out loud. Make yourself really laugh. I dare you!

Or, click here.  Perhaps this guy can help you laugh!
 
 
                  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

WW: Why This Child May Not Get Into the School Preferred by His Parents

There's a good reason this child might not get into the school preferred by his parents.

This is a true story of a young mother I know. I won't tell you her name but suffice it to say that she is the mother of my only grandchild.

It seems that these parents were trying really hard to get their son into a little school at a nearby church; this desirable school has a very long waiting list.

The headmistress/director and this "young mother" were communicating by e-mail. The mother was told that the school will not accept anyone who is not potty-trained and was asked when the child would be 2 years old.

The young mother replied that his birthday is March 19th and that she was hoping he'd be potty-trained by then, but, she wrote, she certainly wished there were a camp to send him to for potty-training because she didn't know how in the world to tackle it.

At least that's what she meant to write. She sent the e-mail, then checked back to be sure she had included the birth date.

Oh, yes, she had, but here is what she had actually written instead of what she intended to say:
"I wish there were a camp to send him to for potty-training because I don't know how to tickle tits."

~                        ~                             ~                           ~

Wordless Wednesday participants are here.

Wordful Wednesday participants are here.

Too Old to Trick-or-Treat?

You know you are too old to Trick-or-Treat when:

10. You get winded from knocking on the door.

 

9. You have to have a kid chew the candy for you.

8. You ask for high fiber candy only.

7. When someone drops a candy bar in your bag, you lose your balance and fall over.

6. People say: "Great Boris Karloff Mask," and you're not wearing a mask.

5. When the door opens you yell, "Trick or..." -- and can't remember the rest.

 

4. By the end of the night, you have a bag full of restraining orders.

 

3. You have to carefully choose a costume that won't dislodge your hairpiece.

 

2. You're the only Power Ranger in the neighborhood with a walker.

1.  And the number one reason Seniors should not go Trick Or Treating...

*

*

*

1. You keep having to go home to pee.

No matter, have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN anyway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thanks to Penni for sharing this!