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!”

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Your Girdle’s Wet

Phyllis and I had been at it all weekend. It was her first weekend home from college in 1965 and she was on top of Daddy’s good list. Daddy liked his kids a lot better when he hadn’t seen us lately, so Phyllis was basking in the warmth of his rare approval. Since I still lived at home and was a smart-aleck, I was definitely was not on his good list. His ingratiating treatment really grated on my nerves, since he was gracious by proxy, ordering me to, “Do this for Phyllis. Get Phyllis some more cake. Stop what you’re doing and kiss Phyllis’s behind again.” Of course, Phyllis was soaking all this up since only two weeks before, she had been one of the peons who had to “Get so and so some more cake, Kiss so and so’s behind.”

We took a few hours off to sleep and let Phyllis’s behind get a little rest from all that kissing and picked up the fight where we left off. Sunday morning found me in a particularly bad mood knowing Phyllis would switch into her “sweet and precious persona” as soon as she stepped into the sanctuary, while “mean Phyllis ” recharged to be unleashed on me as soon as we got home. For good measure, I insulted her again just before going in to take a shower. She pounded on the bathroom door, demanding the girdle she had hung to dry on a towel rod. I got out of the tub, stripped the girdle from the rod, and flung it out the bathroom door, and yelled at her, “Here’s your darned old girdle! It’s wet anyway!”

This was all it took. Phyllis flew to Mother, squalling so hard, she couldn’t even tell Mother anything except how horrible I had been to her. Mother finally calmed her enough to find out what was wrong, and Phyllis blubbered out, “She said my girdle’s wet. Boo hoo hoo!”

Ten Things to Never Say to Your Church Pianist

THAT SONG WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITES. WHAT WAS THE NAME OF IT, AGAIN?

YOU PLAY LIKE A MAN.

THANKS FOR YOUR OFFERTORY. IT GAVE ME JUST ENOUGH TIME TO READ THE CHURCH BULLETIN FROM COVER TO COVER.

YOU DID A GREAT JOB. DID YOU EVER TAKE PIANO LESSONS?

I WOULD GIVE MY LEFT ARM TO BE ABLE TO PLAY LIKE YOU.

THAT WAS THE BEST YOU’VE EVER PLAYED. I ONLY HEARD A FEW MISTAKES.

DID YOU SNEAK A PAUL MCCARTNEY TUNE IN YOUR PRELUDE?

HOW EXACTLY DID YOUR SONG SELECTION FIT WITH THE REST OF THE WORSHIP SERVICE?

I’M DIZZY AFTER HEARING YOU PLAY ALL THOSE NOTES!

YOU SOUNDED MUCH BETTER WHEN I TURNED OFF MY HEARING AIDS.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

The first thing I wanted to be was not to be a girl, based on the difference in the lives I saw my parents lead.  This was long before I’d learned about penises, so it wasn’t penis envy.  That came later. Quite early on, I noticed Daddy had an enviable life, can Ming and going as he pleased.  Mother knocked herself out to do things just the way he wanted.  Should she guess wrong, she apologized and tried to make it up to him,, though that wasn’t easy.  Daddy hunted, fished, rode horses, and did whatever he wanted to with his friends, coming home when he was ready. Daddy was always able to come up the money for horses, hunting dogs, hunting gear, and find the time to enjoy them.  My brother and I loved tagging along with him since something exciting was always going on.  He lived a great life which I totally admired.

Meanwhile, Mother cooked, cleaned, did total child care, of course, juggled the bills to keep food on the table and the lights on, made all our clothes, and took care of the garden, canning and freezing the produce.  Mother never had to worry about leisure activities, since she had no leisure.  Everytime she sat down, she went to sleep.  I didn’t want anything to do with that situation.

Our social life revolved Daddy’s family.  We spent holidays and weekends together.  We saw Mother’s family once or twice a year, since they lived a couple of hundred miles away.l

When I was a kid, I had no intention of marrying to recreate the life of servitude my mother led.  I thank God I didn’t.

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