humor

Can You Top This?

I got my daughter a Dalmatian for her thirteenth birthday. I do believe that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. For about a day and a half, Annie was sweet. As soon as she got her bearings,she became a hyperactive, maniacal buzz saw, plundering and eviscerating everything in her path from shoes to the rag top on my husband’s MG, but that’s a story for another post.

At eighteen months, Annie’s hormones kicked in. Overnight, she was transformed into a nasty-tempered, sullen,farting, bitch…..such a blessed relief. One day she was sitting between Bud and Mother farting up a storm. Bud and Mother each kept looking accusingly at the other, thinking surely the other would eventually do the decent thing and excuse themselves.

Deciding to take her show on the road one morning, Annie decided the best thing for her to do was to tunnel under our neighbor’s back fence to pay him a call. Brian wasn’t in the yard, so she trotted into the house looking for him. He was deep in thought, sitting on the toilet, enjoying some quality time. Inspired by his wise example, Annie squatted and produced a fine example of her own. Though I didn’t see the actual event, I did get to hear about it in great detail.

Church Bulletin Bloopers

Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services:

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1. Bertha Belch, a missionary from Africa, will be speaking tonight at Calvary Methodist. Come hear Bertha Belch all the way from Africa.

2. Announcement in a church bulletin for a national PRAYER & FASTING Conference: “The cost for attending the Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.

3. The sermon this morning: “Jesus Walks on the Water.”
The sermon tonight: “Searching for Jesus.”

4. Our youth basketball team is back in action Wednesday at 8 PM in the recreation hall – Come out and watch us kill Christ the King.

5. Ladies, don’t forget the rummage sale. It’s a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Don’t forget your husbands.

6. The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been cancelled due to a conflict.

7. Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say “Hell” to someone who doesn’t care much about you.

8. Don’t let worry kill you off – let the Church help.

9. Miss Charlene Mason sang “I will not pass this way again,” giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.

10. For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

11. Next Thursday there will be try outs for the choir. They need all the help they can get.

12. Barbara remains in the hospital and needs blood donors for more transfusions. She is also having trouble sleeping and requests tapes of Pastor Jack’s sermons.

13. The Rector will preach his farewell message after which the choir will sing: ” Break Forth Into Joy.”

14. Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.

15. A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will follow.

16. At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be “What Is Hell?” Come early and listen to our choir practice.

17. Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.

18. Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

19. Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.

20. Attend and you will hear an excellent speaker and heave a healthy lunch.

21. The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.

22. Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM – prayer and medication to follow.

23. The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind.
They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.

24. This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn sing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.

25. Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B.S. is done.

26. The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.

27. Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.

28. The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare’s Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

29. Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.

30. The Associate Minister unveiled the church’s new tithing campaign slogan last Sunday:

“I Upped My Pledge ! – Up Yours!”

Ralphie Gets Tripped Up

imageDaddy got another phone call from Ralphie, the kid down the road.

“Mr. Bill?”

“Hey, Ralphie. What’s going on?”

“I wrote a poem at school and won a contest.” (On his last phone call, Ralphie had reported making all D’s and F’s and having the papers to prove it)

“Well, that’s great, Ralphie! I’m glad you’re doing better at school.”

“I won first at my school, then at district. But when they took it to state, the judge said it came out of World Book and they threw it out.”

“Well, why did they do that?

“Because it came out of World Book. Bye”

Surprise at the Surprise Party

Surprise party

IllustrationbyKathleen Holdaway Swain

Connie and Marilyn were adorable little girls, born a little over a year apart. Born fouth and fifth of five children, we all doted on them, with the exception of my brother Billy, who was displaced by all that cuteness. Mother dressed them in pastel shades of the same style dresses as much as she could. Connie was fair and blue-eyed with cotton white hair; Marilyn olive-skinned, brown-eyed with darker hair. Naturally, they were inseparable. Connie, the older, was protective of Marilyn and invariably gave over to her, calling her “Myrnie.”

As Mother rocked Connie, it was obvious the sweet toddler was deep in thought. After a bit, Connie asked, “Mommy did God give me to you and Daddy?”

“Yes,” Mother answered.

Connie thought, “Did God give Myrnie to you and Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Why, God didn’t want no kids.?” Connie puzzled.

Like most large families, we all had responsibility. Phyllis and I helped to care of the little ones. I was very scatterbrained, so whichever one Phyllis took care of got a better deal than my charge. When they were three and four, both were invited to a birthday party one Saturday afternoon. Phyllis and I dressed them in their little party dresses. Both were ready with one small exception. I left Marilyn’s little ruffled panties in the dryer till the last second. As they sat in a chair to stay clean, Mother came through and was delighted at the sight of her precious little girls. She took their little hands and led them to the car. Mother was running behind and hadn’t really had time to dress up for the party, so she just sent the girls in and went back home to fix herself up to socialize with the ladies when she got back.

On her return, as she pulled into the drive, the little party-goers were all gathered around the front steps. Marilyn was on the top step with all the children yelling for her to jump. As Mother watched from the car, Marilyn’s little party dress fluttered, the kids cheered. Mother was concerned, not remembering Marilyn having panties that odd nude color. Mother skipped coffee rushing the little girls to the car. She anxiously ran her hand up Marilyn’s leg. Just as she’d feared, Marilyn didn’t have any nude-colored panties. The ruffled panties matching her dress still waited in the dryer at home.

Mother was livid when she stormed home with Marilyn and her bare bottom. You’d think Marilyn was the first girl who ever went to a party without panties. She assumed I was at fault and not ready to hear any excuses. As Mother said her piece, it finally struck her as funny. The more we talked, the funnier it got. When the hysteria crescendoed the preacher dropped by. Naturally, he was worried to find us all with h tears streaming down or faces. Phyllis and I abandoned Mother to make her explanations.

This wasn’t my first or last mess up. I never knew why Mother considered me capable.
Connie and Marilyn's Toddler Pictures

Follow up on Ralphy

Several people asked for a follow-up on Ralphy, the kid I mentioned in a previous story. I still see Ralphy occasionally. He is a very pleasant, likeable guy, but never set the world on fire. He holds down a job and putters round. He married and divorced and lived with his mother between relationships, but has been a stable relationship with a nice lady for a couple of years. He is good to his mama, an excellent recommendation. Alas, he didn’t grow up to a be a poet, and I don’t know who he calls now when he wants to talk on the hone.

Happy as a Pig in Slop

pig in slopRalphy was a quirky kid who lived just down the road from us. When he was eight or nine, he’d call on the phone, asking to speak to Daddy. We were always interested in hearing what he had to say.

“Mr. Bill?”

“Yeah, what’s on your mind today, Ralphy?”

“My mama just bought some of that new White Cloud Bathroom Tissue. You should come try it! Bye.”

Another call:

“Mr. Bill?”

“Yeah, Ralphy. How are you today?”

“Fine. I just got my report card. I had all D’s and F’s.”

“No, Ralphy! Surely not!”

“Yep, and I’ve got the papers to prove it! Bye!”

Next call:

“Mr. Bill?”

“Hey, Ralphy. What’s going on?”

“I wrote a poem in school today. Want to hear it?”

“Why sure!”

“Rabbits love cribbage and cabbage.

Pigs love slibbage and slobbage.”

“That’s good, Ralphy. What did you make on it?”

“An F. It was supposed to be about the Flag. Bye.”

We all hung on those phone calls like a pig in slobbage.

The Threat of Typhoid Tomatoes

This is a story from my mother’s childhood.
R G Holdaway Family with Johnny Bell early 1930's

Mama kept me close to her side we when were home alone. If she did let me go in the yard on my own, I had to be close enough to come running in an instant when she called. The only exception was a trip to the toilet. Since it wasn’t polite to answer from the toilet, I kept quiet knowing, she’d be watching for me to come out before mounting a search. She always warned me against falling through the hole in the seat, but that was a concern she could have spared herself. I’d have sprouted wings and flown had I felt myself falling into the quagmire beneath that toilet seat!!

A well-worn path led down the hill to the toilet located far enough to cut the odor and avoid contamination of our well. Mama was vigilant about sanitation and shoveled lime into the pit to aid decomposition and screened the open back to foil her chickens who considered the flies and maggots a tempting buffet. Chickens are not known for their discriminating tastes. Any chicken Mama planned to butcher, was penned up and fed a fine diet of grain and table scraps for several days prior to its date with the axe, till Mama was convinced it, “clean.” I now realize my brother didn’t bother with the long walk to the toilet at night, since a healthy crop of tomatoes had volunteered beneath his bedroom window. Mama noted the size and beauty of the crop, but said we couldn’t eat them. “They might not be clean.” They looked as “clean” as the ones from the garden, so John and I slipped off and enjoyed the finest tomatoes of the season, which had apparently benefitted from the trip through his digestive system. When Mama noticed the stripped plants, she whirled around and quizzed me “What happened to those tomatoes? You didn’t eat them did you?” My guilty look gave me away. “You did, didn’t you? Oh, My Lord, you could get typhoid from those nasty tomatoes.”

My heart fell. I knew this had to be serious since Mama said, “Oh, My, Lord!” I had no idea what typhoid was, but I did understand I was about to die.

“John ate most of them. I only ate a couple of little ones but nothing was wrong with them. They tasted real good.”

“Being raised in filth wouldn’t make them taste bad. They could still make you sick.” She went on about her business as I prepared to die.

I worked up my nerve. “Mama, will typhoid kill you?”

“It could, but maybe you won’t get it. I had typhoid when you were a baby and nearly died.” I already had a keen conscience and knew I deserved punishment as I waited anxiously all afternoon for typhoid to strike me down. I attributed everything to typhoid: a ringing in my ears, a rapid heartbeat, feeling hot and thirsty as I played listlessly in the shade that July afternoon. My last day dragged. Mama didn’t say any more about typhoid, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I dreaded going to bed that night since I wouldn’t be waking up tomorrow, but certainly couldn’t confide in Mama, since I’d brought all this on myself. During bedtime prayers, I got cold shivers reciting the line, “and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Knowing tonight would be the night put a whole new light on the situation, especially since I’d disobeyed Mama. It hurt my feelings a little when she tucked me in as matter-of-factly as usual on my last night on earth. I fought sleep, but couldn’t hold it off forever. I bounded out of bed, thrilled to find myself alive and ravenous when I awoke and smelled dry-salt meat frying, biscuits baking, and coffee percolating before daylight the next morning. Typhoid would have to wait for another day!

Terrible Tale of Cell-Phone Torture

 

cell phoneMother is a tightwad, or careful with her money as she calls it, refusing to get a cell-phone.  For my own peace of mind, I put her on my plan.  I did get peace of mind in knowing she wasn’t out without a phone, but the cell-phone opened a whole new can of worms.  First of all, I tried to convince her it was free, so she’d use it, but she didn’t buy that.  When I finally admitted it cost ten dollars a month, no matter how much she used it, that was okay.  She insisted she’d accept it only if I let her pay me.  I agreed and that’s the last I heard of it.  She doesn’t mind owing me forever but has no intention of being a freeloader.  I am happy with that compromise.

She also has the habit of locking her keys in the house or car.  I added roadside assistance, but she was reluctant to call the service till she realized there was a guy in her neighborhood who got the calls.  Now she feels like she’s helping him and gives him all her business.  I haven’t had the heart to tell her she is only covered for two calls a year.   

She loses her phone a couple of times a week.  Most of the time, it’s in a jacket pocket, or under a chair cushion or car seat, but sometimes she’s left it somewhere else.  She panics and calls me the second she misses it, since I was foolish enough to provide it.  By the time I get the call, she’s ranting at herself for losing it again and has to wear her frustration out before we can get down to the business of finding it.  I don’t advise providing the instrument of your torture.  Most of the time it’s at my house or in my car.  I always try to check her out before we part ways, but sometimes I forget.  I added phone insurance just in case, so she’s going to pay for that sometime, too.  That’s the only way she’d agree.

Unfortunately, Mother sometimes get random text messages on her phone.  She doesn’t text and is hostile to texting, so this is a problem.  She’s always convinced one of her children are in danger and are trying to reach her by text this time, though any of us would rather die than deal with texting her.  It puts her in a panic till I remind her none of her kids would ever text her.  If one of them ever does, she’s going on their plan then and there.

I am still glad Mother has a cell phone, but just in case you wondered, she still has her land line for back up.  Cell-phones can’t be trusted.  I dread the day when Mother finds out her next phone will have to be a smart phone.  She HATES the internet!

Conquering Corwin (part 2)

imageAunt Essie got her nose out of joint when her little guys came home bringing tales of how badly Uncle Bill had treated them, so he didn’t hear from her till she fell on hard times a couple of years later. She had married her own fella named Bill by that time, strangely enough. This Bill was an affable enough guy, though he must not have taken time to meet the boys before they married. He’d also been married before and “wadn’ payin’ no child support to that whore of a woman after the way she done me. Besides that oldest ‘un never did look anthing like me, ner that little one neither, if you git right down to it.”

The long and short of it was, they needed to get the heck out of Dodge or her sweetie would have gone to jail. Like any landed gentleman of the South, Daddy had always maintained he’d provide a place for any of his sisters who fell on hard times. She magnanimously forgave Daddy. Over Mother’s furious objections, he set up a mobile home on their farm for Aunt Essie and her family. The situation went downhill fast. Aunt Essie wore her slippers to check the mail and slid down. She asked Daddy for the name of a good lawyer so she could sue. He told her she’d have to move if she sued him, so she changed her mind. Her Bill had a heart attack within a month of the time they moved there. He never worked another day, leaving them penniless until his social security kicked in. Guess who supported them.

All that aside, they had the added joy of daily life with Corwin. Corwin quickly dropped out of school, a reasonable decision, since the only thing he was getting out of it was a bus ride and two free meals a day. When he got suspended for harassing little girls, it was a relief to everyone in the system. Bill and Aunt Essie went somewhere in Aunt Essie’s car one day. Wisely, Bill took his keys, knowing Corwin would certainly take off in his truck the minute he left. One of Daddy’s horses had died three or four days before. As farmers do, instead of burying it, he hitched the dead horse to his tractor and dragged it as far to the back of his place as he could, leaving it to the varmints. Corwin had been puzzling over whether or not the varmints had gotten to the horse carcass yet. Corwin showed some industry in hot-wiring the pick-up, but not in driving in the muddy fields. He got stuck and had to leave the truck buried up to the hubs next to the bloated horse. Bill was livid when he came in and found his truck missing. “Where in the Hell is my G—D—- Truck?”

“Stuck in the mud on the back of Uncle Bill’s place.”

“What in the Hell is it doing back there?”

“I drove it back there to see if see if that dead horse was stinkin’ yet.”

“Well, what in the Hell were you gonna’ do about it if it was?”

Not too long after this, Corwin and Kelvin were found to be growing a lucrative crop of marijuana on Daddy’s place. It was a good time for the family to leave.