To leave you with a smile… an acquaintance was present at the local church the other Sunday morning on a bright and sunny day, and had opportunity to chat with the clergyman who remarked on the number of new faces in the congregation. Unsure of who was who, he asked my friend, ‘Was that Fanny Green sitting in the front pew?’ To which my friend cheekily replied, ‘No vicar, it was just the way light was shining through the stained glass window’ 😀
A friend of mine recently visited Vermont from his home in Boston.
He had rented a rustic cabin, far from any people, deep in the North Country, hoping to get “away from it all”.
Sure nuff, after a long Autumn and early and snowy Winter had set in, Christmas approached; my friend began to long for some human contact.
Then across the frozen lake in front of him, a lone snowmobile approached. Slowly and surely it came closer till at last it stopped in front of him, and a lone bearded rider dismounted.
“Howdy, you interested in goin’ to a party?”
Without waiting for a reply he went on:
“Goin’ to have some good music”
“Going to be lots of good food;”
“All right, I could use some home cooking”
“ there is goin’ to be some drinkin’, and there is goin’ to be some swearin’ ”,.
“and there is goin’ to be some fightin.”
“Oh that’s okay”, said my friend, “I can just stay in the background”.
“And there is goiin’ to be some sex”.
My friend laughed. “Say, when is this party going to be anyway?”
“Its tonight” said the stranger.
“Well, I’d like to come so I better get dressed”
“Naw, no need to” smiled the stranger, “it ‘ill just be the two of us.”
Dear Auntie Linda, My husband and I are just barely squeaking by. We have three children under four. I would love to be a stay-at-home mother, but it’s out of the question. We need every penny to put food on the table. My parents are retired and babysit for us, but I have to pay them fifty dollars a week, fifty dollars we desperately need. Since they are both home anyway, it looks like they could do it for free, knowing how we are struggling just to keep food on the table and pay the rent. I have had to pay them late a time or two and Mom asked me about the money. Doesn’t this seem kind of cold? Broke and worried
Dear Broke, It is amazing that you pay fifty dollars a week for your parents to babysit three children under four. Maybe you should look around for a better deal, then come back and kiss the ground your parents walk on. That fifty dollars a week probably doesn’t cover what the children eat or the ibuprofen or aspirin your folks take at the end of the day. Auntie Linda
Dear Auntie Linda, I hate my mother’s mean little dog. She won’t come to visit without bringing that darn beast. It snaps and snarls at the children. We’ve never had a dog in the house. It rankles me that she favors it over the children. It drags its bottom on the carpet and I have to clean the carpet before I can let the baby down. This angers and disgusts both me and my husband. It is a real issue. What in the world do I do? Love Mama, Not the Dog
Dear Love Mama, Surely Mama has noticed that her little dog is less than welcome. Perhaps she can confine it to her room. That bottom dragging indicates the dog likely has impacted anal glands, an unpleasant and uncomfortable situation for Fido and the carpet owner, not to mention, dragging even a healthy bottom on the carpet where a baby will be crawling is disgusting. Unless Mama is demented, she ought to be able to understand the dog doesn’t need the run of your house or the freedom to terrorize children. What if the children hurt the dog? She needs to protect it. However, dementia is always a possibility. Auntie Linda
I recently asked my son if he’d pick me up in the airport upon a return flight if I came into Dallas instead of Shreveport, since I’d been fortunate enough to find a forty-seven dollar ticket. Thinking what a good son he was, since I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, I happily purchased the cheap ticket, telling him I’d email him the gate and time details later, knowing he’d already agreed to the date. A few days later, completely out of the blue, I got this text. “Mom, we are at the airport. Which gate is it?”
I was horrified. Dallas is two and a half hours from Shreveport. Surely I hadn’t somehow given him the wrong date. I tried to return his text. No reply. After a few minutes I got him by phone. He was laughing hysterically, enjoying my panic. Of course, he was just tricking me.
Realizing I owed him, I decided to send him this horrible picture, hoping he’d be repulsed. He certainly deserved it. Instead, I got a return email, asking me if they made matching pants so me, him, and his grandmother could get a matching set.
My apologies to the artist.
Insights from my friend at Vanbytheriver
Standards of beauty involved curves. An iconic Marilyn Monroe stood at 5 ft. 5 in. and fluctuated between 125 and 140 lbs., reputed to be a size 16.
The ethic of my eastern European heritage dictated that a plump wife was a sign of a man’s good fortune. My grandmother and mother fell into line.
By anyone’s standards, they were overweight. Fat was not the exception, it was the norm; particularly in women who’d born children.
We children were quite different. We were rail-thin. I was, by far, the worst.
Somewhere around age 7, I just stopped eating. Today, they would call it a disorder, maybe even anorexia. I was grossly underweight, severely anemic, depressed over family trauma.
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Reblogged from Vanbytheriver
It’s the word no one likes to use. Except for my 3 year old daughter.
At a family gathering, she walked up to my mother in law with a few simple words.
“Grandma, you’re fat.” She responded quickly. “Yes, and you’re skinny.”
End of discussion.
No judgment. No euphemisms. No excuses.
There might have been 20 adults that were present for that interchange. I sat mortified in the corner, wondering about the right time to have sensitivity training for a toddler.
She was right, of course. No one in the room had much to say. I took my MIL aside and apologized. She smiled nervously and changed the subject.
My own mother was fat. She died years before my children arrived. I wonder what her reaction would have been to the same candor ?
We watched her lifelong struggle with weight. She married “Jack Sprat”, gave birth to 6 thin…
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A little boy got lost at the YMCA and found himself in the women’s locker room. When he was spotted, the room burst into shrieks, with ladies grabbing towels and running for cover. The little boy watched
in amazement and then asked, ‘What’s the matter, haven’t you ever seen a little boy before?’
Told to me by my Irish grandmother more than 30 years ago. (Best told in an Irish brogue.)
It was a hot, sticky summer morning and Paddy decided to go to early Mass before it gets too hot, so he tells his wife he will be back in an hour.
Sure enough, he comes back in an hour, but with 2 black eyes!
“Paddy,” she says, “You said you were going to church and here you been fightin!”
“No, Mother, I did go to church.”
“Well, what happened to you?”
“Well, you know it was so hot and Mrs. O’Leary was in the pew in front of me. When we got up from the sermon, I noticed that her dress was stuck up in her crack and I thought it looked terribly uncomfortable so I reached forward and pulled it out for her. She turned around and smacked me right in the eye.”
“Well, Paddy, that explains how you got one black eye, but what about the other?”
“Well, I thought, if that is the way she feels about it, I would put it back in.”