The young fella walked in fom the country wearing only one shoe.
“Oh, I see you lost a shoe.” Said the first guy he met.
“No, I found one!” said the country boy.
memoir
Guests, Like Fish, Start to Smell After Three Days
I am an excellent guest. We went to visit relatives this weekend, but I don’t ever expect to be invited back.
I pulled bathroom curtain loose while showering. When I called Bud to fix it, We had to get through the requisite question first. “Why did you pull it loose?”
“I was kicking at the toilet. I intended to break it and the mirror over the sink, but this is all I managed, for the moment. I am so disappointed in myself. Can you fix it anyway? I’ll get to the rest of it as soon as I can.”
Grudgingly, he put the window curtain back up.
Later, we made a little trip into town to pick up a few things at the grocery store. Buzzy, our dog, and Bud’s aunt had gotten quite friendly. She said he could stay with her since she was going to nap while we were gone. I was a little concerned how that might go. Hurrying back, I dreaded asking, “Did he do okay?”
“Did you see that movie, ‘Call of the Wild’?” As soon as you left, he howled about every thirty seconds the whole time you were gone.”
Hey, That’s My Mole !
Bubba, the second in our series of four American Eskimo Dogs, now respectfully referrered to as the late Uncle Bubba, was a great and fearsome dog. We’d been plagued by moles in our yard, which we’d been unsuccessfully battling. Bubba was extremely interested in the beasts, as any fine hunting dog would have been, but had never actually spotted one. He’d continually dirtied up his beautiful white coat in attempting to dig out the wily Star-Nosed Mole, courageously enduring bath after bath. Unbelievably, his heroism eventually paid off! Finally digging one out, he presented his prize gallantly! Each of us bragged over his trophy in turn, praising him highly!
He kept his trophy handy all afternoon, bringing it forward from time to time when his ego needed a little boost. Sadly, for Bubba, a passing crow also admired his catch, swooped down, and snatched it from him. Devastated, Bubba loped behind him, barking in fury. “Hey, come back here! That’s my mole.”
My Book Finally Arrives….
Reblogged on Nutsrok
My Book Finally Arrives….
Hongry Little Billy
Mother and Little Billy walked over to have coffee with Miss Alice many mornings after she got us on the school bus. Of course he would have had breakfast before leaving the house with her. One morning they got to Miss Alice’s before she’d had time to clear breakfast away. A couple of strips of bacon and a few biscuits rested on a plate on the Continue reading
Green Bean, Ewwww!
Holidays are rough on people who work in hospitals, since you’re getting by with minimal staff. One Thanksgiving, I was performing dialysis on a patient not too long after he’d had his traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I knew exactly what he’d had because he got sick and hurled it me. By this time, I was a seasoned nurse and always had extra scrubs stowed in my locker. Without gagging, I brushed off the bigger pieces, swabbed myself with soapy towels, generally sprayed myself with disinfectant, changed clothes, and got back to work, pretty much good as new. Continue reading
Some Things Need To Change
That is me in the despised saddle shoes. I was too young to hate them, yet.
The first, longest lasting, and most redundant misery my was frizzy, old lady perms. Mother did this so my sister and I would be social outcasts. Vastly overestimating our sexual attractiveness, from the time we went into puberty until we got old enough to fight her off, she maliciously inflicted home perms on us.
She bought our underwear at the Dollar Store or the cheapest thrift store or fire sale around, should Grandma lag in keeping us rigged out in home-made torture underwear. Long after pointy bras were unavailable in normal circulation, Mother managed to ferret out pointy padded bras in the cheapest stores known to mankind, never mind the fact that the stiff cups caved in if they were bumped. I’d have loved some not-too badly-worn cast-offs from the lucky, poor kids down the street, but they laughed when they caught me going through their trash. I tried to hide when changing in gym to keep anyone from seeing my Grandma’s home-made drawers. They were made without benefit of elastic in the waist and tended to lengthen your legs by several inches as the day went on. Grandma didn’t worry a lot about soft, cotton fabric. Coarse, woven prints were good for the soul.
I was stuck in saddle-shoes for years because they were durable and Mother had loved them in high school. Never-mind the fact that no other kid would have been caught dead in saddle shoes. Best of all, I was a total slob, not the kind of kid who would ever voluntarily polish a shoe. Most of the time, I didn’t even remember I had shoes till the school bus driver was honking the horn outside our door and I was simultaneously looking for my books, trying to get a note signed (bad news) and looking for lost shoes. My shoes were inevitably, wet, filthy, and most likely stinking from ripping through the barnyard. Not a good look for black and white shoes. A more forward-thinking mother would have dressed me every day in a slicker and rain boots, so she could have hosed me off.
Though I tell these stories in jest, the following story still angers me.
I think my greatest humiliation stems 
from the fact that Mother tortured me by hooking a ride for me with a boy I despised and was mutually despised by, not informing me until it was time for me to go. The boy’s mother was a friend of my mother’s. He was a bully, tormenting me daily. I’d never confided this humiliation to my mother. I was forbidden to register more than a minor protest, cancel my plans, or refuse to go since that would first, “embarrass her.” Had I pressed further “disputing her word,” I would have committed the worst possible sin a kid could commit. Ashamed to voice the humiliating truth, I was enraged and ashamed as I got into the car with the equally furious bully, riding unspeaking and miserably in the back seat as he rode in the front with his mother. I asked her to let me out on the opposite parking lot, so we wouldn’t have to walk together. My feelings for him have not changed all these years later, though I do believe I may share this story with him. Perhaps he doesn’t know this is important to someone.
Me and Oil Can Harry
Mother was stuck taking us everywhere she went, even to buy a new washing machine just days before her fourth baby was born. She never asked anyone to keep us since that would have insured she had to return the favor and keep someone else’s monsters in return, probably some of our killer cousins. She was always on guard against that. We followed her into Continue reading
Nutsrok 