Night Terror

My young John’s imagination was wild.  All through the day he was a superhero vanquishing monsters and besting villains, feared by evil-doers, all.  Sadly, even superheroes have to sleep in the dark. When he was quiet abed, he could feel them creeping out of the shadows, coming for him. Every night, I kissed him, tucked him in, and checked under the bed and in the closet to show him there were no monsters.  Switching off the light, I’d leave the door ajar.  Soon the light would flip on and I’d hear,a little voice at my ear. ”Mommy, I’m scared.”

Back  to bed we’d go,  me assuring assuring him there was nothing hiding in the dark.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.  After a few trips, I’d enlist Bud’s help.  Eventually, fatigue would overtake his fear and he’d drift off.  I’ve never been a good sleeper.  Every time I awoke, I’d peek in on the kids to make sure they were covered and cozy.  One memorable night as I tiptoed in to check on John my toes squished in something cold and wet, not a good feeling for a dog or cat owner.  “Crap!” I said, an expletive and likely description of what was squished up between my toes.  I hobbled on my heel, toes in the air, driving a spire into the heel of my other foot.  Dropping to my knees, I landed on a firetruck.  Even in my agony, It was identifiable as a fire truck by the siren and flashing lights.  By this time, John was screaming in terror at the invading monster. Bud stormed to the rescue, flipped on the light, ready for action, only to find me me on the floor, PlayDo between my toes with a jack stuck in my heel.

It turns out, my adventurous  son had gotten up and constructed traps for monsters about his room. PlayDo  mounds were scattered about the carpeted floor.  Metal jacks, cars, trucks, and all manner of wheeled toys encircled his bed,  Only a winged assailant could have gotten to him.  Needless to say, it took a while to figure out what was going on and get the terrified little boy settled back in.  My throbbing foot kept me company till morning.

Really, Really Bad Joke

A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her name plate that the teller’s name is Patricia Whack.

So, he says, “Mrs. Whack, I’d like to get a loan to buy a boat and go on a long vacation.” Patti looks at the frog in disbelief and asks how much he wants to borrow.

The frog says “$30,000.” The teller asks his name and the frog says that his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it is OK, he knows the bank manager.

Patti explains that $30,000 is a substantial amount of money and that he will need to secure some collateral against the loan. She asks if he has anything he can use as collateral.

The frog says, “Sure. I have this,” and produces a tiny pink porcelain pig, about half an inch tall. Bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patti explains that she’ll have to consult with the manager and disappears into a back office.

She finds the manager and says: “There is a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000. And he wants to use this as collateral.”

She holds up the tiny pink pig.
“I mean, what the heck is this?”



The bank manager looks back at her and says,
“It’s a knick knack, Patti Whack.
Give the frog a loan.
His old man’s a Rolling Stone.”