Day: September 12, 2024

Marriage Joke

A man and his wife enter a dentist’s office. The wife says “I need a tooth pulled. No gas or Novocain — I’m in a terrible hurry. Just pull the tooth as quickly as possible.” “You’re a brave woman,” says the dentist. “Now, shows me which tooth it is.” The wife turns to her husband and says, “Open your mouth and show the dentist which tooth it is, dear.

On their 50th wedding anniversary and during the banquet celebrating it, Tom was asked to give his friends a brief account of the benefits of a marriage of such long duration. “Tell us Tom, just what is it you have learned from all those wonderful years with your wife?” Tom responds, “Well, I’ve learned that marriage is the best teacher of all. It teaches you loyalty, meekness, forbearance, self-restraint, forgiveness — and a great many other qualities you wouldn’t have needed if you’d stayed  single.

 

Recently a routine police patrol was parked outside a bar in the Outback. After last call, the officer noticed a man leaving the bar so apparently intoxicated that he could barely walk.  The man stumbled around the parking lot for a few minutes, with the officer quietly observing. After what seemed an eternity, in which he tried his keys on five different vehicles, the man managed to find his car and fall into it. He sat there for a few minutes as a number of other patrons left the bar and drove off. Finally he started the car, switched the wipers on and off; it was a fine, dry summer night, flicked the blinkers on and off a couple of times, honked the horn and then switched on the lights. He moved the vehicle forward a few inches, reversed a little, and then remained still for a few more minutes as some more of the other patrons’ vehicles left.  At last, when his was the only car left in the parking lot, he pulled out and drove slowly down the road.  The police officer, having waited patiently all this time, now started up his patrol car, put on the flashing lights, and promptly pulled the man over and administered a breathalyser test.  To his amazement, the breathalyzer indicated no evidence that the man had consumed any alcohol at all! Dumbfounded, the officer said, “I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the police station. This breathalyser equipment must be broken.” “I doubt it,” said the truly proud Redneck. “Tonight I’m the designated decoy

“Spontaneous Combustion” or “Because I Love You”

Pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop…the percussion of Daddy’s belt flying out of his belt loops would have brought me out of a coma. Of his various approaches to discipline, “Spontaneous Combustion” was my specialty and the one I experienced most, being both clumsy and a smart mouth.

Things could be rocking along just fine till someone – usually me – broke a dish, made a smart remark, or embarrassed Daddy.   Though I never set out to be “smart-alecky”, I could always count on my big mouth.  What I thought was funny, didn’t always amuse him. I carefully memorized jokes, even if they were way over my head, to tell at just the right moment. My judgment of the right moment was poor, such as when we had the preacher’s family over to Sunday dinner and I told loudly a joke I’d overheard on the school bus.

I hadn’t understood it, but from the reaction of the kids on the bus, it was clearly hilarious. “What day is Queersday?” A word of explanation here. We were strict Southern Baptists. I was nine years old with absolutely no understanding of sex , heterosexual, homosexual, or otherwise.  I had never heard the word “queer” used except in the context of “unusual.” I was surprised the kids found the joke so funny, but made a point to remember it, nonetheless. There was no question of political correctness on my part. I was totally ignorant.

Patiently, the preacher asked, “I don’t know, Honey?  What is Queersday?”

I spouted back.“Only queers ask that!” and collapsed into laughter, noticing only too late, I was the only one laughing. Daddy took me by the arm, escorted me to the back yard and Pop..pop…well, you can guess the rest.

A major argument for “Spontaneous Combustion” was that even though it was swift and terrible, it didn’t involve a wait and didn’t include a lecture, both of which Daddy used to great advantage.

Misbehavior committed during regular times called for different discipline. A lecture preceded the “whipping.” I only wish that I had grown up in more enlightened times when “whipping” was abuse, but unfortunately in the fifties, it was common. The lecture started out with a full explanation of what a horrible thing I had just done, showing where I was pointed in the future should I not be whipped that day. He droned on forever, mentioning at some point that rich people didn’t take time to correct their kids, just bought them lots of stuff ,that sounded good to me, and concluding with, “I’m giving you this whipping because I love you.” I often wanted to voice, it was okay if he loved me a little less, but never did, considering he was holding a big belt the whole time.” Eventually the lecture was over and the main event began.

“Spontaneous combustion” was not Daddy’s exclusive domain. Mother could be prompted into action, but it took a little doing. She was a diminutive little woman with a high, squeaky voice but when she did cut loose, I felt ridiculous getting swatted by Minnie Mouse. One day the Standard Coffee Man came to call. In the fifties, the Standard Coffee Man made regular rounds calling on housewives. Mother routinely bought three pounds of medium roast delivered fresh in its round, white canister with gold stars. I always coveted those canisters, but she selfishly kept them for herself, storing other goods like flour, sugar, meal, and beans in them. Since we were a one-car family, and Mother rarely kept the car, any variation in the daily routine was a welcome event. While Mother went to fetch her purse and pay the coffee-man, I perched my smarty little self on the couch right next to our guest. Always friendly and chatty, I confided that Tommy Lindsey had told me a joke, and yes, Mr. Coffee Man did want to hear it.

“How did the little moron die?”  The coffee-man had no idea. “He was smoking on the roof and threw the wrong butt off!” It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard, and the Coffee-Man laughed, too. He was still laughing when Mother walked back in with his money. Mother snatched me off the couch, spatted my bottom, and sent me to my room. I never even got to say, “Goodbye” to my new best friend. The spat didn’t hurt, but I was embarrassed to have gotten a swat in front of company.

You don’t hit out of love. You hit because you can!

Leader?

Do you see yourself as a leader?

There is no need for me to be a leader anymore. I am retired. I am part of a two person team. We are both in charge.

Night Terror

My young John’s imagination was wild.  All through the day he was a superhero vanquishing monsters and besting villains, feared by evil-doers, all.  Sadly, even superheroes have to sleep in the dark. When he was quiet abed, he could feel them creeping out of the shadows, coming for him. Every night, I kissed him, tucked him in, and checked under the bed and in the closet to show him there were no monsters.  

Switching off the light, I’d leave the door ajar.  Soon the light would flip on and I’d hear,a little voice at my ear. ”Mommy, I’m scared.”

Back  to bed we’d go,  me assuring assuring him there was nothing hiding in the dark.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.  After a few trips, I’d enlist Bud’s help.  Eventually, fatigue would overtake his fear and he’d drift off.  

I’ve never been a good sleeper. Every time I awoke, I’d peek in on the kids to make sure they were covered and cozy.  One memorable night as I tiptoed in to check on John my toes squished in something cold and wet, not a good feeling for a dog or cat owner.  

“Crap!” I said, an expletive and likely description of what was squished up between my toes.  I hobbled on my heel, toes in the air, driving a spire into the heel of my other foot.  Dropping to my knees, I landed on a firetruck. Even in my agony, It was identifiable as a fire truck by the siren and flashing lights.

By this time, John was screaming in terror at the invading monster. Bud stormed to the rescue, flipped on the light, ready for action, only to find me me on the floor, PlayDo between my toes with a jack stuck in my heel.

It turns out, my adventurous  son had gotten up and constructed traps for monsters about his room. PlayDo  mounds were scattered about the carpeted floor.  Metal jacks, cars, trucks, and all manner of wheeled toys encircled his bed.

Only a winged assailant could have gotten to him.  Needless to say, it took a while to figure out what was going on and get the terrified little boy settled back in.  

My throbbing foot kept me company till morning.