Joke

Joe told  his doctor that he wasn’t able to get as much done around the house as he used to. When the examination was complete, he said: “Now, Doc, I can take it. Tell me in plain English what is wrong with me.”

“Well, in plain English,” the doctor replied, “you’re just lazy.”

“Okay,” said the man. “Now give me the medical term so I can tell the wife.”

 

 

What do you call a woman who works as hard as a man?

Lazy.

 

 

 

Why don’t men do laundry?

Cause the washer and dryer don’t run with a remote.

The Curse

I can’t sit still.  I blame my parents.  On top of Nature, they sandbagged me with Nurture.  They inflicted me with the inability to ignore what needs doing.  I hate it!  I grew up learning to  clean it up, use it up, and mend it as long as possible.  Just one time, I’d like to get up in the morning, decide it’s a lazy day, and then just lie around reading, petting the dog, or lying in the hammock, unconcerned about making the bed, vacuuming, cleaning the stove, or ironing.  Once I note a task that needs doing, it’s written in stone on my little bitty brain.

Yesterday, I woke feeling droopy.  Over coffee, I told Bud I thought I’d take the day off.  The house looked pretty tidy.  It would do fine.  Before I got started relaxing, I decided to strip the bed and wash the sheets.  As I passed through to the laundry, I noted tomatoes on the kitchen counter and remembered my plans to can chili.  Forgetting my lazy day plans, I got right to it, chopping onions and peppers.  I ended up with twelve quarts of chili before noon.  While the chili was in the canner, I vacuumed and scrubbed the bathroom.

As I remade the bed, I pulled out a quilt Buzzy had chewed a quarter-sized hole in.  He haddn’t done anything like that since he was a pup.  The quilt was several years old but too good to discard.  I felt compelled to patch.  I didn’t totally match, but I couldn’t forget about the hole till it was patched.  it would be so much easier to discard it, but I just can’t toss an old friend that can be salvaged.

Okay, so I blew my lazy day.  Last night, I noticed my stove needs scrubbing and my patio needs a cleaning.  Looks like I’m set for tomorrow.

 

 

Valencia Street Aria

Sally’s Cafe and Bookstore – Author Update #Reviews – Olga Nunez Miret, D. G. Kaye and Linda Swain Bethea

Uncle Albutt Part 8

Over the years, Aunt Jewel made frequent mention of Eunice and Doxy. On Sunday, April 14th, Uncle Albert and Aunt Jewel surprised us by showing up for Sunday dinner with Eunice, Doxy, and Baby Dewie in tow. Before the days of telephones, it wasn’t unusual for relatives to arrive unannounced. It was a bit of a surprise to have them bring Eunice and Doxy, people we were only vaguely acquainted with. Like the gracious host and niece-in-law she was, Mother put a couple more potatoes in the pot, opened another can of beans, watered down the gravy, and slid another pan of biscuits in the oven. Even though Mother was creative cutting up the chicken, it didn’t go too far. The big pieces didn’t make it past the company, while the kids dined on the neck, back, ribs, and wings. This was in the days before we knew chicken wings were a delicacy, so we weren’t that happy. We had been forewarned not to complain. In all fairness, Mother did reserve the coveted fried scrambles and put them on our plates to spare us the pain of seeing Uncle Albert gobble them all up.
Mother’s dishpan was at the ready as she cleaned up while she cooked. Aunt Jewel chain-smoked at the kitchen table and watched as Mother cooked. Eunice nursed her snotty-nosed baby. After a wet sneeze, the baby blew out an impressive snot bubble. Eunice grabbed Mother’s dishrag from the dishpan and wiped the baby’s nose, then matter-of-factly, tossed it back into the dishpan. This, on top of the smoking and breast-feeding was too much for Mother. She got Eunice a hanky and suggested the women move to the living room where it was more comfortable. The decibel of banging pots and pans increased as she put Phyllis and me to washing dishes and setting the table.
Fortunately for Mother, while she was struggling to stretch the noon meal, she had no idea Daddy had recently boasted that she’d just completed their return, bagging them a nice refund. Uncle Albert was impressed. Eunice and Doxy needed a nice refund. Uncle Albert assured Eunice and Doxy Mother would be glad to prepare their tax return, hence the reason for the impromptu visit, information he shared as he ground out his cigarette in his dinner plate. Though Mother made no overt objection, I didn’t miss her sigh and pursed lips. Daddy did have the grace to look a little worried. After clearing the table and putting us to doing the mountain of dishes. Aware of her mood, we knew better than to fight over our task. Mother told Eunice, they’d better get started. Naturally, Eunice wanted Mother to do the long form and calculate interest on their many debts. This was long before calculators.
As Mother labored over the form and calculations, Aunt Jewel perfumed the air with her cigarettes at the other end of the table, turning the air blue. The skinny baby squalled and snorted as Mother picked information from Eunice. Even though Eunice had never done a tax return, she argued with Mother over how it should be done, arguing that rent, groceries, and gasoline were exemptions. She felt little concern over receipts. “I got that at home somewhere. That doctor bill was about twenty-five dollars. I don’t need no receipt.” Just as Mother thought she had finished, Moxy strolled through and wanted to claim an exemption for the baby, even though it was born months after the cut-off date. He wouldn’t be convinced, so Mother hastily added the baby, knowing it wouldn’t fly. She did however, refuse to sign the form as preparer, having a healthy fear of being jailed by the IRS.
The little family eventually left, exhausted by the taxation process. I never heard if they ended up in jail. Fortunately, Uncle Albert never brought Mother any more tax preparation business. Daddy never got his hanky back.

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Wordless Wednesday

The Milk’s Gone Bad

“The milk’s gone bad!  I put it back in the refrigerator.  You’d better check it before you drink it.”

”Why didn’t you pour it out?  I’m not going to drink bad milk!”

”Well, just check it.  I could be wrong.  It just smelled bad whe I tried to drink it.  I thought you might use it for cooking.”

”You can tell as well as I can if milk is bad. I don’t want to cook with it.  Just”…..bang.  Bud went on out the back door without getting rid of the milk.

The next day he came through with another freshness update.  “An apple in the fruit bowl is bad.?”

”Did you throw it out?”

”No, I thought you might cook something with it.”

”I never cook with bad milk and rotten apples.  I don’t cook maggots or flies either.  Throw it out!”

”I don’t have time.  I have stuff to do in the shop.”  He rooked the dogs and walked right by the rotten apple and the trash.  Does anybody have a recipe that calls for bad milk and a rotten apple?  I need to cook something special.

Joke

Bob, aged 92, and Mary, aged 89, decided to get married.  While out for a stroll to discuss the wedding, they stopped in at a pharmacy.

Bob asked to speak to the pharmacist.  He explained they’re about to get married, and asked, “Do you sell heart medication?”

“Of course we do,” the pharmacist replied.

“Medicine for constipation?”

“Definitely,” he said.

“How about Viagra?”

“Of course.”

Medicine for memory problems, arthritis, jaundice?”

“Yes, the works.”

“What about vitamins, sleeping pills, Geritol, antacids?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you sell canes, braces, wheelchairs and walkers?”

“All speeds and sizes.”

“Good,” Bob said to the pharmacist.

”We need to sign up for our wedding registry.”

Uncle Albutt Part 6

Aunt Jewel had several nieces and nephews I saw from time to time.  Her sister Lucille, of the hairy legs, who was married to Daddy’s Uncle Dunc, had three daughters, Alma, Eunice, and Gladys.  I guessed Lucille wanted to keep to her family’s tradition of inflicting horrible names on kids including her boys,  Hambone, Mookie, Teeter, and twins Fats and Snake.  I can’t imagine how she settled on Fats for one of the twins.  They both were skinny as snakes, though neither bit me.

I was most impressed with Alma.  Mother said she was a tramp because she wore her swimsuit and moved the grass when a road crew was working in front of their house.  It made no sense to me.  I thought she looked beautiful with her bright red lipstick, blonde ponytail tied with a scarf, teetering along in high heeled wedge sandals.  The mower gave her a lot of trouble and a couple of the guys came to check on her.  Her sister Eunice came out in her swimsuit, but she was not so popular, probably because she was extremely thin.  Her suit bagged over her hips like a toddler’s training pants.  Alma got a boyfriend that day.  Eunice didn’t.  No matter, Eunice had somehow snagged a boyfriend named Moxy.  I think he followed her home from her carhop job.  Mother also thought carhops were trashy, dashing my career hopes.  I was impressed when Eunice got married at the age of sixteen and had a baby shortly thereafter. Eunice and Moxy were great favorites of Aunt Jewel’s, so I heard of them from time to time over the next few years.

Gladys was nearest me in age.  Apparently still under the influence of her religious, fundamentalist mother, her clothes inspired no envy in me.  Her hair was tightly braided.  She wore a dark, long-sleeved dress and brown leather oxfords I did not envy.  Her mother kept her busy, leaving her little time to play with me.  I helped her wash dishes and mop the kitchen so we could escape outdoors.  That afternoon, we waded in their pond in our clothes.  Gladys said her mama didn’t allow her to wear a swimsuit.  Afterward, I  wore one of her Pentecostal dress and flour sack bloomers while my clothes dried on the barbed wire garden fence.  I wanted to keep the flour sack bloomers, but mother insisted I give them back.  I never wore anything more comfortable.   We each got a quarter of watermelon from their garden that had been cooled in their well. Late in the day, the men fried fish while we chased fireflies in the dusk.

Uncle Dunc, became progressively rowdier as the evening drew on.    Though I didn’t know it at the time, It was my first experience with a drunk.  Uncle Dunc began playing wildly with us, chasing us as we jumped off the high porch fronting their house into the darkness.   I enjoyed the day tremendously, though sadly, never got to visit again.  I lay that deprivation directly at Mother’s feet based on a conversation I heard as we drove home late in the night.  She took a dim view off drunks frying fish and chasing her children into the darkness.  What a pity!  I thought I was having fun.

I later got the impression he was named Dunc because it rhymed with drunk.  Still makes sense to me.