Just a Few Words . . .

Something I never thought I'd have to say: "I ain't takin' no damn taxi to Walmart!"

Conversation with soon-to-be daughter-in-law (IN-PERSON, not on the phone):
Her: I want to lose some weight before the wedding.
Me: Dr. Oz said that drinking white tea helped in weight loss so I went and got some.
Her: Is it working?
Me: (to self) Well, apparently not.

Another example of excellent listening skills:
Jack: I ordered that DVD you said you wanted.
Me: The new Upstairs/Downstairs series? Really?!!
I open it.
Me: This is Up the Down Stair Case with Sandy Dennis, made in 1967.
Jack: Oh, well I knew it had stairs in it.

VANdalized!!

Well, Jack was supposed to ride with a buddy to work last week so that he could drive the company van full of equipment home and leave here Sunday evening. But he forgot. Yep. Forgot. So on Sunday as I was preparing to go out and do some stuff with my sister, he tells me that I need to take him to his office—more than an hour’s drive one way to pick up the van.  I cancel my plans and drive in pea soup fog and rain to the location. We turn into the back of the building and Jack yells, “Oh my Lord. Someone has stolen the tires off the van!”

There sits the van, sans wheels, perched on cinder blocks. I think it’s a joke. “No you’re kidding right? Where’s the real van?”

“THAT’S IT! PARK THE CAR! I HAVE TO CALL THE POLICE!”

 Now that it hits me that I just drove this far in the rain and that this really is the company van, I can’t control my laughter. I’m leaning on the steering wheel laughing. “OMG! This is serious! This is no joke,” Jack counters. Nothing makes me laugh even more than Jack’s inability to see humor in such situations, so now I’m laughing even harder. "This was so worth the drive," I choke out. “Be quiet, I have to call the police!” says Jack. Even though it’s drizzling I have to exit the Jeep because I know if I hear him talk to the authorities, I’ll really lose control. I’m out! 10-4!

Jack exits the vehicle after making what I’m sure was a very serious report and circles the van, taking photos with his I-phone. “Don’t touch the van!” he commands.  “Will you send me those pictures?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. “Those bastards have even stolen the friggin’ wiper blades,” he bellows. This ups my mirth yet another notch.

Up drives Officer JB Bowie. He seems very sincere as well so I put my hand over my mouth to hide my uncontrollable grin. Officer JB looks at Jack and asks, “When was the last time you saw the vehicle when it had wheels?” This is too much for me. I’m snorting in an effort to repress myself so I turn and walk away, shaking. Jack says, “That’s my wife” as if that explains my behavior.  (When I think about, it really does.) “Oh,” says Officer JB with an understanding nod.

After the officer’s departure we must enter the building so Jack can make some phone calls. “Don’t walk around. Sit in that chair. You’re not supposed to be in here,” he tells me. Then as we’re leaving, walking through a pitch-black room, he announces, “This is the lab.”

“But I can’t see anything,” I respond. (Including my hand in front of my face.)

“Just walk straight forward and follow the sound of my voice,” he instructs. Then he stops talking.

I do some Helen Keller baby steps, whimpering ever so slightly.

Well, many hours later, another van rented and he’s on his way. A good time was had by all . . . well by me.

Not a Morning Person . . .

My sister and my two nephews were coming in from North Georgia to spend the weekend, so I'd done the usual exhausting things one does to prepare for visitors--clean, clean, clean, pick up multiple dog chews off the floor, vacuum, put out beach towels, straighten up around the pool, sweep the acorns off the deck, collect seemingly dozens of Jack's caps and tiny pieces of paper with equations, diagrams, and numbers scattered around the house, and so on. Also, I made a check-up appointment early in the a.m. (at Jack's request) for dog Bear.

Jack is an early bird which is mainly dangerous when he's not at work, so since it's Saturday and family is coming, I drag myself out of bed early despite my wee night hours habits. You see, for some reason, whenever I've prepared extensively for such occasions, Jack looks around and apparently says to himself, "Gee, this would be a great time to . . . " And mind you, he's done all of the following during the day of such events:

• dismantle the entire stove and clean all the parts after placing those parts all over the kitchen floor and previously clean countertops
• paint the deck just before our new neighbors and their four small children arrive for a barbecue . . . on the deck
• fix that foggy window that's been in said condition for about five years. Oops, the glass broke!
• throw some extra chemicals into a perfectly clear pool rendering it extra cloudy for the entire visit
• tear down the stairs leading to the front door which happens to be around eight feet above ground level

So, suspecting such shenanigans, I sleepily find Jack with the light switch removed from the wall, wires protruding askew, mere inches from the door where myriad teenage boys will be repeatedly entering and exiting while wearing wet bathing trunks. Not being a morning person, I croak out my first question of the day, "Why? Why are you doing that?!"

"Calm down, it will be fixed in a minute. I just want to get that light working over there."

"It hasn't worked for about three years. Why now? The kids will be here any minute!"

"Don't exaggerate. It's only been out for about a year and a half. Those damn builders [who built the house 24 years ago by the way] didn't know what they were doing. This wiring is all wrong."

"Then is it really a good idea to be sticking a needle-nose pliers around in there?"

"I know what I'm doing."

POW!

My heart's pounding and thankfully Jack's is still beating, but the electricity is out. Five minutes remains before Bear's scheduled appointment. "I'll fix it when I get back," Jack says. I decide to take a nice, hot shower . . . in the dark of course . . . to calm my nerves. Ever notice there's not a lot of productive things one can do when the electricity is down?

About an hour into the dark ages, Jack returns with Bear. "The vet says he weighs 198 pounds."

"That's ridiculous!" I say.

"No, he weighs 198 pounds!"

"If he weighs 198 pounds, let's call the Book of World Records."

"Oh you're right; it's 98 pounds and he needs to lose six pounds. She said one of his eyes is a bit cloudy and she noticed that back in 2002."

"Well since this is a new vet at the practice and it's the first time she's seen Bear and since Bear is only three years old, that doesn't seem right."

"True. I don't know what she's talking about. What are we going to do anyway, get him prescription goggles?"

(Note to self: Call the friggin' vet on Monday.)

Now it's time to repair the lights by testing the breakers. My role is to run into every room of the house to yell yes or no if the lights come on as Jack switches breakers in the basement. The only light that works is the outside deck light so I'm told to watch that one. I'm yelling yes and no through the back door when Jack comes up disgruntled and directs, "I can't hear you! Yell into the house, into the house!"

Oh thanks for those instructions. Here I'd been yelling over the neighbors' fence.

Finally the lights are back on and nephew electrocution doesn't seem as likely. The wires are stuffed into the wall and covered by the switch plate. And what about the non-functioning light that was the focus of all this activity? It still doesn't work. But no worries. If I have any plans for visitors over the next couple of years, Jack can work on it then.

Have you ever . . . ?

Have you ever received one of those chain e-mails that asks you to answer a bunch of questions about your favorite foods, colors, and other things like "Have you ever been to Europe?" They always end with statements like, "Don't spoil the fun! Send this to 15 of your friends." I don't think I have 15 friends, or if I did and forwarded all these messages to them, I surely wouldn't.

Of course, even though it isn't fun for me to reveal how uncultured, untraveled , non-epicurean, and unworldly I am, I don't want to spoil the "fun" for anyone else, so I end up doing as requested about 50 percent of the time. But I think these chain e-mails may be the equivalent of the theory that one fruitcake has been circulating around the world since the beginning of time, forwarded by one unhappy recipient to the next. So I'm thinking about sending an e-mail survey of my own, one that I can answer in the affirmative for a change:

• Has your husband ever set your hair on fire with a party popper?


• Did you ever have a grandmother that accidentally set herself on fire three times, but no one can ever exactly explain how?


• Did you ever get punched in the face by a drunken person at your high school reunion which you'd traveled 500 miles to attend?


• Did you ever dance your heart out trying to get a part in the fourth-grade play square-dance scene (the one where the girls got to dance with the boys) and instead got the rear-end part of the dancing horse behind the most gaseous girl in school (as you found out during rehearsals)?


• Have you ever accidentally sucked a button up your nose after trying to breath through the little holes in the button?


• Have you ever had two separate encounters with two different monkeys on the loose?


• Have you ever had a perfect stranger beat you over the head with Indian corn from a Halloween decoration?


• Have you ever accidentally called your grammar school teacher, Grandma?


• Did the top of your dress ever fall off on the dance floor at a company party?


• Has one of your relatives gone to prison for shooting out a revenuer's eye?

Okay, all of you self-satisfied, aristocratic, globally savvy folk, put that in your pipe and smoke it. Which reminds me, have you ever . . . ? Oh well, never mind. That's a whole new set of questions.

13 Conversations about . . . What was I saying?

Friends and family say I have a great knack for remembering embarrassing stories . . . about them. However, lately I'm losing (not those stories, of course; they're great ammo) but details about other things . . . I think I read that book back in high school, but I'm not sure. Did I see that movie? Yeah, I know I did, but I can't remember what happened. I think I liked it though. Or as that comedian whose name I can't recall says, "I was driving down the rode the other day. Wait a minute; that wasn't me."

So when friend Jill and I were discussing good movies we've seen, she brought up 13 Conversations about the Same Thing. "I know you've seen it because we talked about it," she says.

"Yes, I've definitely seen in but it was a while ago. I can't remember most of it," I answer. "I remember that Alan Arkin was in it right?"

She describes some of the scenes and I can remember bits and pieces of the movie, but that's about it. Then she asks, "Well can I tell you about one special part of it, since you've already seen it?"

"Hmm," I answer. "I think that's the saddest question anybody has ever asked me!"

Woman from Earth; Man from Mars (A True Story)

Snow is a rare treat in Georgia so when we recently got about six whole inches of the stuff, I said to husband from Mars, Jack, "Hey why don't we go out on your Gator (another of his gadgets) and ride around the neighborhood to see the snow."

"Okay, sure!" he says.

"Okay, I'll get ready. Give me a few minutes," I say.

I take a quick shower, put on my warm stuff and my snow boots and walk into the living room. The white rabbit has disappeared. "Jack? Jack?" He's not in any of his usual hiding places. I look out the window and the Gator is gone. He's gone without me! I am really ticked off, even hurt.

About half an hour later he comes up the front stairs stomping snow off his feet. "I can't believe it!" I say. "Why did you leave without me?!"

"Well you were taking a shower," he says blankly. He's completely surprised that I'm irritated, missing the point that I was attempting a shared experience. (If he had really thought it through, he would have asked me to go along as ballast. Yes, once when our car got stuck in a ditch, he told me to move over to the other side of the car to act as a counter balance. What?!) He doesn't get it, so I talk myself down in my head, saying, okay, okay just move forward. I'm bundled up like the kid in "A Christmas Story" so I suggest, "Well let's just take the dogs for a walk through the woods, then."

Once again, "Okay!" His cell phone rings. It's our neighbor Gary. "Sure, I can fix that! I'll be over in five minutes," says Jack.

REALLY? I mean REALLY?! (And they say romance is dead!)

Which reminds me, my Dad, rest his soul, often warned me of dangers starting with the words, "They say if you do that . . . " One day, when he began another such warning, I asked, "You've been saying that all my life. Who exactly is 'they'?" He thought for a minute and then said, "Well, actually it's been me all along."

Size "Zero" is Invisible

Yes, I may have been eating like a pig during the Christmas holidays, but I have to say after watching many weight-control commercials that there is no such thing as a size zero. Who invented this sizing BS? If you are alive and existing in human form, you cannot be a size zero! It goes against the laws of physics. "I was a size eight and now I'm a size zero," claims a woman that I can still see on the TV screen. What?!!