In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Well, I Never….”
Long, long ago when I was a but child-bride, I yearned to please my handsome husband so I dreamed of concocting hearty breakfasts, luscious lunches, and delightful dinners. This wasn’t to be. We had wisely married while still in college so were in possession of two things money couldn’t buy, abject poverty and true love. We were just scraping by. After about two weeks, about all we had left in the refrigerator was a half-loaf of bread, mustard, a couple of lonely, frozen chicken gizzards, and an old, dry sliver of cheddar cheese. I fried those chicken gizzards up nice and hard, sliced them as thin as possible, added the slivered cheddar cheese and sat down with My Darling to enjoy the amazing delicacy. It was the worst thing I ever tried to eat. The piquant taste of overdone gizzard slathered with mustard was not a good companion taste for the dried out cheddar cheese. I was never tempted to try that combo again.
A husband and wife have four boys. The odd part of it is that the older three have red hair, light skin, and are tall, while the youngest son has black hair, dark eyes, and is short. The father eventually takes ill and is lying on his deathbed when he turns to his wife and says, “Honey, before I die, be completely honest with me. Is our youngest son my child?” The wife replies, “I swear on everything that’s holy that he is your son.” With that, the husband passes away. The wife then mutters, “Thank God he didn’t ask about the other three.”
Joe, a one-armed guy strolled in to the barbershop for a shave and a haircut, but Bill the Barber told him, “Joe, I’ve got several in line ahead of you, but I’ve got Johnny, a new barber startin’ iffen your willin’ to give’em a try.”
“Well, I reckon that’d be alright,” Joe grumbled.
Johnny got to work on Joe, but since it was his first day, he was a little nervous. He nicked Joe a few times and snipped his ear with the scissors. Trying a little conversation to cover his nerves, he asked Joe, “Do you come in here often?”
“Naw, I lost this arm in a saw-mill accident, twenty years ago,” snapped Joe.
Dear Auntie Linda, I like my job but my boss is toxic. The workplace is extremely high stress with a high turnover. The clients ask for me and other staff say they like to work with me. I have asked my boss if there is anything I need to do to improve my performance. My supervisor is critical of me to others behind my back, though when I asked for feedback she says I am doing fine. She is training a part-time worker for the job she originally promised me. What should I do? Worried but need this job.
Dear Worried. Look for another job while you still have a job. It sounds like your boss has no interest in your professional development and has already hired your replacement. If possible, find another person who is willing to give you a letter of reference. You are on the way out. Auntie Linda
Dear Auntie Linda, My little brother wants to borrow $10,000 for a down-payment on a house. He’s thirty-eight with a good job, but his divorce wiped him out financially. I have savings and would like help him, but my wife doesn’t want to loan him the money. What should I do? Dilemma
Dear Dilemma, I am with your wife. I never loan money. People who borrow money from family almost never pay it back. How do you(and your wife)feel about giving him $10,000? That’s the way you need to look at it. Auntie Linda
Dear Auntie Linda, I am a devout Christian and have honored my vows to be submissive to my husband, but he hits me “when I need it”. We married when I was eighteen. My mother-in-law is very loving and helpful but I can expect no help from her or our church. She has no control over her own life. My father-in-law is the master of his house. I only see my family twice a year, never alone. The only time I have away from the farm where we live my in-laws is when I go to town with my husband or get to run errands with my mother-in-law. I do get to go to the library when my mother-in-law goes to church since one of her friends is the librarian and can account for my whereabouts while she is in the grocery store across the street. I have to get away to save my life. Where do I turn for help? Prisoner in my home
Dear Prisoner, Get in touch with the nearest Domestic Abuse Hotline. You should be able to find it on the computer. Be careful. Abused women are in the most danger when they are trying get away, as you probably well know. Good luck and be careful who you confide in.
This is third of Three Quotes in Three Days my friend Brian at Vancouver Visions challenged me to. Please check out his lovely blog. You will love it.
My Sister Phyllis is a champion blunderer. She tries so hard to make her point that she often goes way overboard. A friend was relating a fearsome tale of tangling with a rattlesnake ending with him finally managing to cut the snake’s head off, after nearly being bitten several times. Phyllis was so impressed with the story, she pondered it long after the storyteller finished, finally remarking, “You really have to be careful about the rattlesnake’s head. It’s as dangerous as the rest of it!”
None of us has ever forgotten it, using this phrase when someone states something so obvious it’s ridiculous.
Reblog Part 11 of a 12 Part Series
This post has nothing to do with Vagina, Boobs, and Poop. I am doing a post on crazy things my mother has said and done and wanted to see if this garnered interest. Mother is sensitive about her age and height, so I can’t mention the fact that she is past eighty, and “not tall,” but besides that, has said and done some interesting things. (Links to part 1-9 below)
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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?”