The baby was tiny. I hadn’t seen anything but tonsils, poop, and Sesame Street in three weeks. My three-year-old-jabbered non-stop. My ears were sore. Naturally, with the clear-thinking of a woman with near terminal post-partum depression, I took full responsibility everything that went wrong. I don’t know if my husband was a good father or not, since he

I don’t know why Daddy kept goats. In theory, they’d eat brush and he’d have one to barbecue on Memorial Day, Fourth of July, or Labor Day. The fact is, our goats didn’t ascribe to the brush eating theory and were born knowing their life’s purpose was to get their heads stuck in fences, climb on everything and make passionate love. It was clear to the dumbest of them that flowers, grass, garden vegetables, laundry on the line, and almost anything else was better than brush. Only a starving goat would eat poison ivy or bitter weed if anything else is available. I had plenty of experience with goats. Our fences were intended to keep cows and horses in. Goats easily slipped their heads through the wire since they were the philosophical type who believed “the grass is greener on the other side. The problem arose when they tried to…

OLD” IS WHEN… Your sweetie says, “Let’s go upstairs and make love,” and you answer, “Pick one, I can’t do both!”

“OLD” IS WHEN.. Your friends compliment you on your new alligator shoes and you’re barefoot.

“OLD” IS WHEN…. A sexy babe catches your eye and your pacemaker opens the garage door.

“OLD” IS WHEN… Going bra-less pulls all the wrinkles out of your face.

“OLD” IS WHEN. You don’t care where your spouse goes, just as long as you don’t have to go along.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of by the police.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. “Getting a little action” means I don’t need to take any fiber today.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. “Getting lucky” means you find your car in the parking lot.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. An “all-nighter” means not getting up to pee. 

I just love vintage pictures.  What in the world do you suppose was going on here?  I am going to hang on to this on.  I know I will need it for a story sometime.  It deserves screams for one!

When Paddy’s dog died, he took it to the local Catholic church. He asked the preacher if he could have a funeral service for his much loved pet, but the preacher explained that they didn’t do services like that for animals. Paddy asked who would and the preacher suggested that the Baptist church up the road would probably give the dog a funeral service. Paddy asked, “Preacher, do you think $5,000 would be enough payment for the dog’s funeral?” The preacher relied, “Dearest Paddy, why didn’t you tell me that your dog was a Catholic?”