Making an Ass of Myself at a Funeral

On the ride out to our old neighbor’s funeral, Billy told me about “a friend” of his who had embarrassed himself in the drive-through line of a hamburger joint earlier that week.  The “friend” had gotten stuck in line, right next to the speaker.  He called out several times with no response.  He was wedged in.  It was hot.  He was hotter! He couldn’t order, go backward or forward, so did the only reasonable thing.  He cursed loudly about waiting in the heat, abusing the reputation of the restaurant, the employees, their forbears, and hamburgers joints in general, pounding his steering wheel to make a point!

After a bit of this infantile behavior, the speaker clicked on.  “May I take your order, please?”  Relieved, he gave his order and pulled up.  When he got to the window, he found a sea of faces waiting to see the idiot they’d heard throwing the fit.  The speaker had been on the whole time.

He finished his story just as we squeaked into the churchyard.  We filed in with the mourners, taking a seat.  As the services started, it was pretty warm.  Before long, it was hot as Hades. Obviously the air conditioner was on the blink.  Billy grinned and whispered to me, “It’s hot.”  Remembering his ‘friend’, I stifled a giggle.  As the eulogy continued and mourners sniffled, I struggled to maintain my composure, not daring to look at him.  We were both shaking silently, as though overcome by grief.  The blazing heat miraculously unstopped my sinuses.  Suddenly, a river of snot cascaded from my nose as I burst into maniacal laughter.  Vainly, I instituted an ineffective snot management manuever while futilely trying to give the impression of being overcome by grief, not insane laughter. It might have been more convincing had brother, Bozo the Clown, not been beside me in the same state. We fled without trying to console the family, figuring we’d done enough.

My Favorite Joke

The crowds had been packing the traveling “tent revival” every night that week, grateful offerings filling the pockets of the evangelist. Cure after cure was enacted in the sweltering heat of those July evenings. Emotions were at an all time high on the last night as the last two afflicted souls reached the evangelist at the front of the tent..

Struggling up the steps on her crutches poor Mrs. Smith hobbled up to the evangelist. “Heal me! I haven’t been able to walk without crutches in twenty years.”

“Yes, Sister! You will be healed! Go behind the screen and wait with the others sinners. I’ll get to you all at one time.

Johnny Jones was the last in line. “I have a lifth. It hath made my life awful. Pleath heal me of my lifth!”

“Yes, Brother!  You will be healed!  Go behind the curtain with all the others and you will all be healed at once.”

The evangelist offered up a long, heartfelt prayer for healing.  Weeping could be heard all over the tent.  Finally, he concluded, calling out dramatically.  “Mrs. Smith, you haven’t been able to walk without crutches for twenty years, have you?”

“No, Lord!” she replied from behind the curtain.

“You are healed! Throw your right crutch over the curtain.” Her right crutch clattered over the curtain. “Now throw your left crutch over the curtain.” The left crutch followed.

Thunderous “Amens!” echoed all over the tent.

“Johnny Jones, you are healed of your lisp.  Call out to us in a loud, clear voice so all can hear!” demanded the evangelist!

“Mithuth Thmith just fell on her ath!”

No Fool Like……

Things didn’t go well from the start on Croc’s last visit to the vet. My half mastiff, half lab doggy boy weighs one hundred twenty-five pounds and pulls like a tractor. Desperate to sniff a steaming pile of poop, he snatched me down the instant I stepped out of the truck. I sprawled elegantly across the pavement, knocking my nose on the curb. I’d foolishly worn a skirt, so passersby were treated the view of my new undies as I struggled to grab the leash and avoid a greater disaster. Fortunately, Croc was fascinated by a steaming pile of dog poop and hadn’t escaped into traffic. He pondered sampling it as I struggled to my feet, felt around to find my glasses in another mess, and staunched the flow of blood from my damaged knees. He showed no sympathy for me as we made our way in, choosing instead to attempt a friendship with a five pound Yorkie. The tiny beast and her dainty mom were traumatized at the slobbering beast dragging me toward them. My muddied, bloodied countenance did little to reassure the duo, despite my assertion he only wanted to play. Happily, the teeny dog was the original mean girl. She tore into Croc, teaching him a lot about little, mean dogs. The staff got us in a room straight away. No waiting!

Four hundred and fifty dollars later found us checking out. By now Croc was happily munching his cookie. Once again, I was sobered at the cost of well-dog care, despite having experienced it only six months before. Incidentally, I had another dog at home scheduled for a pricey visit the very next day. I definitely can’t handle both at once. I’d made that mistake once, a sad story for another day.

Mean Doggy and her mom stood between my behemoth and the exit. Meany snarled maniacally at us, terrifying Croc. I enjoyed that. Momma was crying to the staff, “Can you find a home for her. I’m sick and I can’t take care of her no more.” She sobbed piteously. It was heartbreaking so I hurried out. After I got Croc, also known as Meatball, in the truck, I called Bud.

“Can we adopt a Yorkie? A sick, old lady has to get rid of her.” I went back for the poor dog. Miss Ann, her mama was delighted she’d found a sucker and pulled out her tattered checkbook to pay for Meany’s visit.

On learning her bill was ninety dollars, Mama paled. “Can you hold this check till next Tuesday?”

“I’ll get it. She’s my responsibility now.” Miss Ann took my number. True to her promise, she visits Biscuit, the little Yorkie, pretty often. She’s even taken Biscuit home for a visit a couple of times. Biscuit always seems to enjoy their visits, but doesn’t mourn for her.

More to come.

Every Dog Has His Day

Croc is a big, big, dog. I dread taking him to the veterinarian and am always so excited to learn we are to see the pudgy vet. This kindly man recommends a generous weight of one hundred ten pounds. The skinny vet always scowls while counseling me to get Croc down to ninety pounds, closer to her own weight. Fortunately, for his self image, Croc doesn’t suffer from fat-shaming. On our last visit, we were met by two nubile young technicians. Enchanted, Croc fairly danced as he tugged them to the scale for his weigh in. Back in the exam room, he beamed as they reported his weight of one hundred twenty-five pounds. In a fit of hormone-laced ecstasy, he sped back seating himself on the scale again, hoping for further praise.

It worked.

Paint Job

A woman calls a Contractor to her house to give her a bid on painting the interior of her house. She takes him into the first room and tells him that she wants it painted pale green. The contractor writes something down on his notepad, goes over to the window and yells down “green side up”. The homeowner takes him into the next room and tells him that she would like it painted rose colored. The contractor again notes it on his note pad, goes over to the window and opens it. He then yells down “green side up”. The woman was curious, but continued to show him the rest of the house. In each room the contractor notes her color choice on his notepad and yells out the window “green side up”. When the homeowner had completed the tour, she asked the contractor why he always yelled “green side up” when she told him her color choice, when the colors were all different. He laughed and replied I have a crew of blondes across the street laying sod.

The Old Lady the Cow and the Pig

The time in our doctor’s waiting room became unexpectedly enjoyable as we sat with an elderly lady and her family. No one had said much beyond “Good morning” till the elderly lady asked her daughter to push her closer so she could admire the ornaments on the tree The doctor had so generously decorated for her patients’ pleasure. She laughed and said, “I am eighty-three years old. I’ve come all the way from chopping wood to people walking on the moon. Oh, I’ve chopped lots of wood.” As she talked on, she cackled as she told this one. “I’ve milked many a cow in my time, many a cow. I remember one time, I was ‘a milking two titties and a pig was ‘a sucking on the other side.” She had us all laughing along with her. We would have loved to spend the rest of the day with her. What a wonderful visit we had!

Sunday at the Swain’s

Mother was a true Daughter of the Bible Belt. Daddy was a man of the “Old South. Mother’s regular days were demanding, but preparation for Sundays were grueling. There were five children in our family;two older girls, the “big” girls then my brother, each three years apart. When my brother was five, my parents got reacquainted and had two more girls about a year apart, known as “little” girls. I quickly noticed the little girls had made a better decision than I when joining the family lineup. Their role was to be sweetly precious while the “big” girls were promoted to unpaid household help; sweeping, mopping, cooking, cleaning, evening farm chores. I didn’t care for any of those things, but of course, I was conscripted, not a volunteer.

Mother’s life was unenviable by most standards. When her normal duties on late Saturday were done, it was time for us to get shoes polished, clothes starched and ironed, and baths and pin-curling done. I would have gladly foregone the torture of having my fine, lank hair slimed up with Dippity-Do, but my opinion was irrelevant. She hated having her girls show up on Sunday with stringy hair. Mother clenched me between her knees, wound my pre-slimed hair tightly around her finger and slid in criss-crossed Bobby -Pins to hold the recalcitrant curls in place. The pins wouldn’t have goudged a groove as they slid in had I had resisted the temptation to bite the plastic tips off the pins, but alas, I was a slow learner. The pin-curled mess was wrapped snugly in a scarf overnight to keep curls from working loose, leaving one straight sprig claiming independence from it’s frazzled friends. I hated the curly do that taunted me in the mirror the next morning. I can’t imagine why anyone would go to all the trouble to look so awful.

Pretty often, Daddy threw a monkey wrench into Mother’s organization by electing to take us all to visit his family until late Saturday evening, often not getting us home until long after all the kids had slumped into deep sleep. As he approached home, he threw the car windows open to shock the us awake since he didn’t like carrying somnolent kids in. Unwashed kids with dirty feet tumbled into bed in their clothes. Beds would be stripped Monday.

I was grateful to forego hairdos when we were out late. Kids got spitbaths after a quick breakfast That left Saturday night’s shoe-polishing, a panicked job before Sunday school. Without fail, at least one shoe went missing, ensuring a wild search. It was almost unheard of for all pairs to be found resting cozily together under the edge of the bed as they should have been. The shoe might have escaped to the fartherest corner of the house, yard, or perhaps been kicked off in the car. While Sunday School lessons read, offering nickels were stuffed in Sunday School Collection Envelopes. Amidst this mayhem, Mother or one of her lacksadaicsical lackies had to draw Daddy’s bath, and put the soap,washcloth, towel, and church clothes out. He always dawdled over coffee, late to his bath. We alway left late for church with him preaching all the way to church because “Y’all made me late! You need to get organized!” the perfect start to a lovely Sunday. I

Swain Kids I am girl in dark sweater in back row

Top Ten Best Old Age Jokes

10

Two senior ladies met for the first time since graduating from high school. One asked the other, “You were always so organized in school, did you manage to live a well planned life?”
“Oh yes,” said her friend. “My first marriage was to a millionaire; my second marriage was to an actor; ,my third marriage was to a preacher; and now I’m married to an undertaker.”
Her friend asked, “What do those marriages have to do with a well planned life?”
”One for the money, two for the show. three to get ready and four to go.”


9

A retired gentleman went to apply for Social Security.
After waiting in line for hours, he finally arrived at the counter. The woman behind the counter asked for his identification to verify his age and, after looking in his pockets, he realized that he’d left his wallet at home. “Will I have to go home and get it?” he asked.
The woman said “Unbutton your shirt.”
He opened his shirt revealing lots of curly silver hair.”That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me,” she said and processed his Social Security application.
When he got home, the man told his wife about his experience at the Social Security office, and she said “You should have dropped your pants — you might have qualified for disability, too.”


8

An elderly woman decided to prepare her will and make her final requests. She told her rabbi she had two final requests. First, she wanted to be cremated, and second, she wanted her ashes scattered in Bloomingdales.
“Bloomingdales!” the rabbi exclaimed. “Why Bloomingdales?”
“It’s the only way I can be sure my daughters will visit me twice a week.”


7

An old woman was walking along the street when she heard a voice telling her …”YOU WILL LIVE TO BE OVER 100.” She looked around, but no one else seemed to have heard the voice. Then she heard it again, “YOU WILL LIVE TO BE OVER 100.” Again she looked around, and again, no one else seemed to have heard anything. Convinced it was The Lord speaking to her, and figuring since the Lord had told her she would live to be 100 she’d better do something to make herself look better, she made an appointment with a plastic surgeon, and scheduled a face lift, a tummy tuck, liposuction, breast implants, and a nose job.
After healing from all the operations and looking years younger, she decided to go shopping. While crossing the street, she was hit by a bus and killed instantly. When she got to heaven, she asked the Lord, “Why did I die? You told me I was going to live to be more than 100?” God looked at her and replied … “Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t recognize you.”


6

An old man decided his old wife was getting hard of hearing.
So he called her doctor to make an appointment to have her hearing checked. The Doctor said he could see her in two weeks, and meanwhile there’s a simple, informal test the husband could do to give the doctor some idea of the dimensions of the problem.”Here’s what you do. Start about 40 feet away from her, and speak in
a normal conversational tone and see if she hears you. If not, go to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until you get a response.”
So that evening she’s in the kitchen cooking dinner, and he’s in the living room, and he says to himself,”I’m about 40 feet away, let’s see what happens.”
“Honey, what’s for supper?” No response.
So he moves to the other end of the room, about 30 feet away.
“Honey, what’s for supper?” No response.
So he moves into the dining room, about 20 feet away.
“Honey, what’s for supper?” No response.
On to the kitchen door, only 10 feet away.
“Honey, what’s for supper?”. No response.
So he walks right up behind her.
“Honey, what’s for supper?”
“For the FIFTH time, CHICKEN!!!!”


5

An elderly couple was on a cruise and it was really stormy. They were standing on the back of the boat watching the moon, when a wave came up and washed the old man overboard. They searched for days and couldn’t find him, so the Captain sent the old woman back to shore, with the promise that he would notify her as soon as they found something.
Three weeks went by and finally, the old woman got a fax from the boat. It read: Ma’am, sorry to inform you that we found your husband dead, at the bottom of the ocean. We hauled him up to the deck, and attached to his butt was an oyster, and inside it was a pearl worth $50,000 …. please advise.
The old woman faxed back: Send me the pearl and re-bait the trap.


4

What is the best thing about being senile?
You can hide your own Easter eggs.


3

A senior citizen was driving home on the freeway when his cellphone rang. Answering, he heard his wife’s voice urgently warning him, “Herman, I just heard on the news that there’s a car going the wrong way on 280. Please be careful!”
“Hell,” said Herman, “It’s not just one car. It’s hundreds of them!”


2

How do you know when you’re getting older?
Everything hurts and what doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work.
Getting lucky means you find your car in the parking lot.
The gleam in your eyes is from the sun hitting your bifocals.
Your knees buckle and your belt won’t.
Those issues of Reader’s Digest just can’t come fast enough.
You hear your favorite song on the elevator at work.
You give up all your bad habits and you still don’t feel good.
Dialing long distance wears you out.
You’re the one calling the police because those damn kids next door don’t know how to turn down the stereo.
You actually want socks for Christmas.
You and your teeth don’t sleep together.
After painting the town red, you have to take a long rest before applying a second coat.
The little gray-haired lady you help across the street is your wife.
There’s nothing left to learn the hard way.
Your little black book contains only names ending in M.D.


1

70-year-old George went for his annual physical. He told the doctor that he felt fine, but often had to go to the bathroom during the night. Then he said, “But you know Doc, I’m blessed. God knows my eyesight is going, so he puts on the light when I pee, and turns it off when I’m done!”
A little later in the day, Dr. Smith called George’s wife and said, “Your husband’s test results were fine, but he said something strange that has been bugging me. He claims that God turns the light on and off for him when uses the bathroom at night.”
Thelma exclaimed, “That old fool! He’s been peeing in the refrigerator again!”

Healing…….Noooo!

My children took frequently took advantage of one of my fatal discipline flaws. Should their behavior cross the line and require discipline, activating my funny bone rendered me useless. The pastor in our small Methodist Church offered healing by laying on of hands at the end of the regular Sunday Service. I suspect that was one of the few times John, age ten, had ever listened. He made a move as though he were heading to the front. I was totally surprised, and caught his arm, thinking he’d misunderstood
”Where are you going?” I asked.
”I’ve got a heat rash!” He giggled.
”Sit down.” He got me

Real Grilling

Joe and his wife were working in their garden one day when looks over at Betty and says: “Your butt is really big, I mean really big! I bet your butt is bigger than the barbecue.” With that he proceeded to get a measuring tape and measure the grill and then went over to where his Betty was working and measured her bottom. “Yes, I was right, your butt is two inches wider than the barbecue!!!!” Betty chooses to ignore Joe. Later that night in bed, he is feeling a little frisky. He makes some advances towards his wife who completely brushes him off. “What’s wrong?” he asks. Betty answers: “Do you really think I’m going to fire up this big-ass grill for one little weenie?”

And the More Sisters You Have….