Humor
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I felt a twinge of Spring Fever a couple of days ago when I spotted a patch of bluebonnets by the side of the road. It's easy to catch it as the days are getting longer, warmer and greener.
That reminded me it's almost time for swimsuits and sleeveless tops.
I took off my clothes and turned in front of the bathroom mirror. Aside from pork-hock legs, a rear-end that looks like someone stuffed 5 gallons of cottage cheese into 1 gallon zip-locks, and a belly that casts enough shadow to shade our backyard, I was reminded of a recent conversation with my son:
On our way to church Chris asked me if all girl animals have "puffs."
"Well, yes, more or less," I answered.
"Do they all use their 'puffs' to feed their babies?"
"Yep."
"How come dogs' puffs aren't big, like yours?"
"Uh, I don't know, I guess it would be hard for them to get around."
"So, it's not hard for you to get around with those two big dinner plates stuck to your belly?"
I turned to my laughing husband, "Are you laughing about my 'dinner plates'?"
"Ah, no," he snorted, "I was laughing about the 'stuck to your belly' part."
I'm not looking forward to swimsuits and sleeveless tops. In fact, this is when I long to live back north where there is still another good month or two of winter hibernating.
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"How are you today, did you find everything okay?" asked the checkout clerk.
"I'm great! Yes I did and how are you?"
"Just peachy!"
"You're itchy?"
"Bitchy? I didn't say bitchy!" she said, "I'd never say 'bitchy' to a customer!"
I laughed, "No! I know you wouldn't say that, I thought you said 'itchy'!"
"Oh, no, I'm not itchy."
"Great, well, I hope your weekend is just peachy!"
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Chuck tells me about the new marketing collateral he and his Administrative Assistant have been pulling together.
The company tag line is, "IT just got easier!" Sounds great, so far. The brochure continues to tout all the great things Capstone Works will do to manage your small business IT, like first, take an inventory of your business asses.
You know, Chuck, no wonder we're so misunderstood.
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Do you love to laugh? I've always been a giggler, just ask my cousins. When we were kids I'd lie on the floor on my stomach with my chin propped in the palms of my hands and make myself giggle. What got me was the looks on the faces of my audience as they watched, in mixed confusion and wonder, the phenomenon unfolding before them. Me, rolling on the floor with tears streaming down my cheeks, laughing at absolutely nothing.
Yes, I was really that goofy.
Although I no longer practice my lying on the floor trick, I still find myself, at times, to be the only one laughing.
Yesterday, for example, Alex was reading a book and asked me, "Mom, what is crude-ite?"
"Crude-ite? How is it spelled?"
"C-r-u-d-i-t-e."
"Oh, that's pronounced crude-i-tay."
"Okay, What is crudite."
"Crudite is French for hors de'ouvre."
Then I busted into uncontrollable laughter. Alex asked, understandably perplexed, "What's so funny?"
"Get it?" I squeaked between guffaws and slapping my thigh, "French for hors de'ouvre? Hors de'ouvre is French, too!"
He didn't laugh, but that look of confusion and wonder on his face as his mother was doubled over, barely able to breath, just made me laugh even harder.
"F-f-fr-ench. Th-th-they're both F-r-ench!" Ha, ha, ha.
I'll tell you. I laughed about that all day. I told Chuck the story, thinking surely he'd find the French-for-French thing funny, but he just answered with a polite chuckle, you know, the one you give when you don't get the joke but are pretty sure someone just made one.
I guess I'm still, really, that goofy.
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Recently, someone on the writer’s forum I frequent posed the question, “What does love mean to you?” The responses highlighted many characteristics of love: it’s unconditional, it’s an action word, it’s loyalty and honor, love is a choice, etc.
One poster quoted my favorite definition from 1 Corinthians 13: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. – NIV
I thought about my boys and how easily and freely they love; especially the part about rejoicing with the truth. Yep, they’re brimming with honesty.
A while back as we sat down to eat dinner, Chuck looked at me then, turning to the boys said, “You know, I love your mother. Look at her. Isn’t she just beautiful, guys?”
Alex and Chris looked at me, then at each other, then Alex spoke up, “Well, I’m not trying to be mean, Dad. I’m sure she was beautiful when you met, and she’s still not bad, but she does have that bump here,” he illustrated by pointing to a spot on his own chin; “and there are those two kinda reddish spots up there on her cheek,” he added, examining my face for other imperfections, “I see a hair….”
“Oh, and those brown things on her neck!” said Chris.
Okay, so I guess the Bible never promises that love is blind, but I sure wouldn’t mind if it were mute.
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Every so often I log into Gooblink and think, "Jeez, Chuck went through all this trouble to build me a website, I really ought to write something." Then, I sign out, get a cup of coffee, rearrange the papers on my desk or trim my cuticles in hopes of finding inspiration.
Clearly, my muse is not hiding in stacks of bills or dead skin shavings.
Last January I promised myself that, this year, I would start blogging again. It was about 3rd on my list of New Year's Resignations (yep, after gain weight and let another year pass without getting to know our next door neighbors). Well, I've got about 3 weeks left to keep my promise...time to get the lead out.
I'm not sure where to start. Do you want to hear about our 3000 mile round-trip to America's ice box (the Upper Peninsula of if-you-have-to-ask-you've-never-been-there), dressed in flip-flops and hoodies? Or, how about the squirrel desiccating in my chimney? Maybe, if you like animals, you'd like to hear about my son's Christmas wish-list, which is comprised of nothing but pets and includes such family favorites as a squirrel monkey and a polecat (I hope Santa has had his rabies shot).
There's so much useless information to share; anecdotes that only a grandmother would love and musings to reveal how deeply shallow I really am.
What are we waiting for?