Archive for July, 2012

We went to a plantation for a tour. After the tour we attended a history lecture which was held outside, in the sweltering heat. I did not have the best seat in the house as my view was semi-obstructed by a tree. I watched as two bugs crawled on the tree. First they were frisky and appeared to be playing a game of tag. Then as the temperatures slowly climbed and the sun rose in the sky they went from scurrying and scampering round the tree to clinging to the tree. I was shocked when one bug leaned back and plopped down to the ground.  The poor thing appeared to be gasping for air and clinging to life. What could I do? I did not know insect CPR. I did not have water to give. Perhaps I could have saved his life if I brought along the teeny tiny water bottle from my teeny tiny room (see yesterday’s blog entry). Finally, he stopped gasping and went still. He appeared to be dead. Uh-oh! Maybe he was just sleeping? I poked him with my foot. Nope, he was dead.

I gave him a quick, impromptu burial by covering him with leaves. If only he had died in my room, I thought. Then I could have flushed him down the teeny tiny toilet, a fitting send off to a tiny bug.

Location – a historic house that has been converted to accommodate
guests. Since the house is old, it has settled, causing things to shift and
slant, such as the floor. Our entire postage size stamp of a room is on a
slant. The sink and toilet are visibly slanted. The first time I went to the
bathroom, my stream was going to the right. I leaned left to even it out, but I
guess I overcompensated as I fell off the seat.

The windows are dressed with shutters which close shut when
opened, yielding to the force of the slant.

It’s like living in a miniature doll house as everything’s
teeny, tiny. I hung my clothes in the teeny, tiny closet. I slept on a teeny,
tiny bed which is also slanted. To avoid falling off I had my husband sleep on
the high side of the bed. His weight evened it out. I sit on the end of the bed
to watch the teeny, tiny TV (which is also the size of a postage stamp.) Since
I’m sitting with one cheek up and one cheek down, (as the bed is slanted), it’s
very easy to pass gas. There’s a bright side to everything, I guess. The only
thing big about this place is the bill; nope, no teeny, tiny, slanted #’s. They
all stand tall and straight.

Every week I write a grocery list. I’m not one to go to the store and walk around throwing cakes and cookies that aren’t on the list into the cart. No, I throw only the cakes and cookies that are on the list. I even try to write the list in numerical order of the aisles.

When my husband does the food shopping we perform a ritual I call the “reading of the list.” This ritual is imperative as there are always items called into question – bread, for example.

Husband – Bread? You want bread? What kind of bread?

Me – Yes, bread. The thing you put meat between and cheese between and make a sandwich. It’s been around for ages.

Husband – White? Whole wheat?Rye? Pumpernickel?

Me – Whatever you want; although pumpernickel is good with cream cheese.

Husband – You want me to get cream cheese? I don’t see it on the list.

Me – That’s because I didn’t write it on the list. Once you mentioned pumpernickel I started thinking of cream cheese. But, get any bread you want for a sandwich.

Husband – Well, if we’re having sandwiches we’ll need mustard. Did you write mustard on the list?

Me – Yes, I did.

Husband – Where?

Me – Halfway down, it’s aisle 5.

Husband – I see it. What kind do you want? Spicy or mild?

Me – I like both. Surprise me.

Husband –  Mild’s good, but spicy is better, especially on a pastrami sandwich. I love a good hot pastrami sandwich with spicy mustard.

Me – Spicy it is then.

Husband – Are you planning on having pastrami sandwiches?

Me – I wasn’t planning on it, but we can. Get some at the store.

Husband – You didn’t write it on the list.

Me – Well! Write it!

Husband – Where? I don’t want to put it in the wrong section.

Me – It’s deli, so it goes at the top of the list. Listen, since we’re having pastrami, we might as well have pickles.

Husband – There no room on this side of the list; I’ll draw an arrow and add it to the back. What kind of pickles – kosher or dill?

Me – Don’t care.

Husband – Where should I write it? I don’t remember what aisle.

Me – Aisle three, so that’s the top of the list. And since we’re having pastrami sandwiches make sure you get rye bread.

Husband -With or without seeds?

Me – Without. Oh, we’ll need the cheese for the sandwiches.

Husband – Cheese? I don’t see cheese on the list. You didn’t write down cheese. You should of wrote cheese down. What kind of cheese: Swiss, American, provolone…

And this my friends, is the “reading of the list.”


“I went down the street to the 24-hour grocery. When I got there, the guy was locking the front door. I said, “Hey, the sign says you’re open 24 hours.” He said, “Yes, but not in a row.””

Stephen Wright

There was a blurb in my local newspaper that reported a college student in RioDeJaneiro confessed to faking her own kidnapping as an excuse for not handing in a year-end project. The girl confessed that her story of being abducted, tied up and held for 24 hours (like the 24 hour bug, it was a 24 hour kidnapping) and then released was false. She spent the time at a friend’s house. Whatever happened to – the dog ate my homework?

It seems the time she spent making up an elaborate story could have been used working on her project. My question is – if it was a required course, will she need to repeat it, with the same professor? Call me crazy, but getting an F or an incomplete would have been better than getting a criminal record. Sure, her parents would have been upset if she failed and had to take the course over, but it sure beats visiting her in jail.

I’m giving the girl the benefit of the doubt for her actions by telling myself she didn’t want to disappoint her parents.

When I went to school and had a school paper or report card that I wasn’t proud of I would wake my mother from a sound sleep, stick the paper under her nose, tell her to hurry up and sign it as the bus was at the door and I had no idea where her glasses were. She signed it, fell back to sleep, unaware it was 4 in the morning and a Saturday. My mother had 4 kids. She was woken a lot at4am. Sure, such deceit took effort; but to makeup a kidnapping story? Now, that’s crazy.


PUPIL: Teacher, would you punish me for something I didn’t do?
TEACHER: Of course not.
PUPIL: Good, because I didn’t do my homework.

For years I sent my mother Easter lilies till one year she asked that I stopped as the flower bothered her allergies. Since flowers and fragrances can trigger reactions in people with allergies some government offices and hospitals are banning fragrances, according to an article in USA Today.

People should use common sense when wearing a fragrance. If people are constantly asking you to leave their home or car because your perfume is to strong, you may want to cut back. Cigarette smoke can have the same effect on people. Only some smokers must not enjoy the smell as much as they claim, otherwise, why else would they flick cigarette ashes out their car window. If they don’t mind the smell, then they should flick the cigarette ashes in their car ashtray.

It’s kind of ironic that when fragrances are being banned, there’s a new dating trend called ‘Pheromone Dating.’ At a pheromone dating party true love can be found thru the nose. Here’s how it works: 1) Sleep in same t-shirt for three nights. 2) Put in plastic bag and freeze. 3) At the party the bag is given a number. 4) People smell the shirts and are introduced to the owner of the shirt they thought smelled the best. True love may or may not bloom. Call me skeptical, but I see a lot of people spritzing their t-shirts with cologne before bed.

I have a friend, who due to a recent illness lost her sense of smell. Since she can no longer smell all the things she is allergic to: flowers, smoke, and perfume, I wonder if she’ll suffer any allergic reactions. Personally, I think, if you’ve been married a long time, a lack of smell can be a blessing in disguise. And I know all you married people out there will agree.


“Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” -6 year old little girl

My youngest daughter has one particular friend that’s like a reporter on Entertainment Tonight, telling the inside scoop about her family to anybody and everybody. When she eats dinner with us, all I have to do is ask, “How’s the family?” And she’s off and running with juicy gossip. After awhile I don’t care if the stories are true as they’re all good. I’m sure she’s told us things her family wished she hadn’t. She’s the family snitch. Every family has one. In my family it’s our youngest daughter – the one who was the latest talker. Go figure. She’s making up for it now.

She snitched on me when I threw my husbands grass covered (disgusting) socks out. Who knew she was watching? She snitched on me when I made a drink and didn’t share with my husband. I don’t feel bad because as I’ve said before, the man’s not a sharer (see  previous blog.) She snitched on me when the cop asked if I knew how fast I was going and she said, “Oh yes, she did.” She snitched on me when she told a friend, “Her baby was the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen.”

I have to be careful around her by watching everything I say and do because one day it’ll be her at a friend’s house telling her parents stories about me; if she hasn’t already.


“No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.”

Bertrand Russell