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Modern House-wifery

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My dishwasher died this week. It set off my PTSD caused by growing up in a family of eight without a dishwasher much of the time. Because of the piles of dishes created by eight people on a regular basis, and the late night dishwashing marathons to catch up, I have a serious attachment to my dishwasher. Not only that, I have a scientific method for loading it.

The science is this: the dishes that remain to be hand washed after the dishwasher is loaded is in direct proportion to my level of happiness. Therefore, everything that can be, is crammed into the dishwasher.

My husband does not agree with my theory…other than the happiness part. He seems to think that if you overload a dishwasher, the items don’t get clean enough. I have a scientific solution for that as well…run it again.

I seriously try to avoid hand washing dishes.at.all.cost.

But something strange has happened. As the kids and I (and the husband) have been hand washing dishes all week, I’ve found it rather pleasant at times. Something about my hands in the warm water, the smell of the soap, and chatting with one of my daughters while she dries the dishes has awakened a strange domestic feeling in me. It’s time spent together that wouldn’t normally happen. The rhythmic motion and running water is relaxing, and let’s face it, hard work is rewarding.

So maybe I won’t be in such a rush to get my dishwasher fixed. I’ll enjoy these moments of working together like our ancestors did without the modern convenience of a dishwasher. Although If my husband reads this, I may deny it. 🙂

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Posted by on January 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Damsel in distress….or not?

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I have had multiple opportunities lately to practice my car-jumping skills. Each time that I pop the hood and bring out the cables, well meaning gentlemen miraculously appear. Now, I assure you that I am not wearing daisy dukes, a low-cut shirt and lounging on the hood of my car. More often, I’m standing there with my teenage son who’s car is too old to have the automatic headlight shut-off.

Jumping a car is not rocket science. The cables even come color coded. Red cable goes on red battery thingie, black cable goes on black battery thingie. Oh yeah, and don’t touch the opposite cables together once they are attached to the donor car or you could be in for “quite a shock,” I’ve been told more than once.

But something strange happens when these chivalrous young men appear. I like the idea that they want to help, but more than that…I start thinking maybe I need help. I second guess myself.

“Do you need some help?” asks the kind gentleman.

Long pause as I look at the cables….”I think I know what I’m doing, but maybe you could make sure.”

“So…this one goes here, right?” (I know the red goes on the red, not sure why I’m looking for validation)

“and the black one goes here? or do I need to clip it to the car somewhere?” (One male helper “grounded” the black one on the car frame.)

“No, that should work. Now just clip them to the other car…but don’t let them touch! Start your car and you should be good to go.”

“Thank you so much. They really need a class on this somewhere!” (Not sure why I threw that in…seems like it would be a pretty short class…but maybe I would learn the name of the battery “thingie”)

“No problem. Glad to help.”

At this point both cars are running and I proceed on my merry way all the while thinking, what is wrong with me that I can’t say, “Thanks anyway, I’ve got this.” I am a problem solver by nature, the IKEA furniture assembler at our house. If I don’t know what I’m doing, give me some time and I’ll figure it out.

The truth is, I like the traditional order of things. I admire men who are willing to go out of their way to help and protect women. Not because we necessarily need it, but because it is the noble thing to do. When a man puts my needs before his, I’m not going to turn him away. So please, chivalrous gentlemen, keep stopping to help. Keep opening doors for me and looking out for me. Because someday, when I’m stranded on the side of the road and really do need help, I’ll be waiting for you.

But IKEA furniture…that’s all me. Don’t even think about touching that weird Swedish screwdriver thingie!

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Posted by on October 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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“Thank You for the Coffee”

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My husband and I have a morning ritual. Depending on our kids and work schedules, we alternate who wakes up first. This is important, because the first one up makes the coffee.* On the days he is up first and I come downstairs to a full pot of the steaming, dark, eye-opening elixir, I swear I hear angels sing. I usually text him my undying love and gratitude believing at that moment that nothing communicates love more clearly than the fact that he made me coffee.

This morning, I decided he deserved a song.

To the tune of “Thank You for the Music” by ABBA

I’m nothing special, in fact I’m a bit of a bore

If I have a cold, you say I even snore

But I have a secret, a wonderful thing

When I drink my coffee, my life starts to sing

I’m so happy and awake

It’s such love in a cup that you make

 

So I say

Thank you for the coffee, the way it’s steaming

Thanks for all the joy it’s bringing

Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty

what would life be?

Without its scent and caffeine what are we?

So I say thank you for the coffee

for making it for me.

 

Mother made coffee when I was still a tot

She says I would drink from her mug even if it was hot

and I’ve often wondered, If that was the start

When the comfort of coffee captured my heart

Like a Starbucks run

It can make everyday much more fun

 

So I say

Thank you for the coffee, the way it’s steaming

Thanks for all the joy it’s bringing

Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty

what would life be?

Without its scent and caffeine what are we?

So I say thank you for the coffee

for making it for me.

 

I’ve been so lucky, I am the girl with the golden hair

I wanna drink coffee anytime, anywhere

What a joy, what a life, what a break

 

So I say

Thank you for the coffee, the way it’s steaming

Thanks for all the joy it’s bringing

Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty

what would life be?

Without its scent and caffeine what are we?

So I say thank you for the coffee

for making it for me.

 

 

*Before any of you comment….our coffee maker does have a “brew later” option. Why we rarely use it could be a psychological study too deep for this blog.

 

 
3 Comments

Posted by on June 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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A break-up letter to email marketing:

Dear Random Store,

I visited you once a couple weeks ago and we had a great time. We really did. I enjoyed your bright colors, nice smells, and variety of textiles. I even made a purchase. That was when you got all excited and assumed I was interested in a long and meaningful relationship. You asked for my email address. You were so casual about it, too, like it was all for my benefit.

“We keep track of your purchases and you earn points,” you said.

“We notify you of special sales,” you said.

Now, don’t get me wrong. You were very nice about it, and I don’t mind a benefit or two for my loyalty. Unfortunately, what you failed to mention, and I failed to figure out on our first meeting is that you are very clingy, needy, and sometimes downright annoying.

I’m sorry to be so blunt, but it would appear from my in-box that you run a special sale every. single. day. I’m sure it is just a ruse to see me again. I’m sorry that I have not been back in a while. But, what about our one-time meeting (which was great, as I already mentioned) made you think that I would want to hear from you every day? We may have had a good time, but we are still casual acquaintances, at best.

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You seem to think we are more than casual. Therefore, I have no other option but to break up with you. I will click “here” to unsubscribe, and when you send me to a different site to click

“here”

“here”

and “here”

I will do that as well.

Heaven forbid you ask me to “sign in” to unsubscribe….because then….well, I’m just screwed and will be forced to label your emails as spam. No offense.

If your seductive displays lure me into your store in the future, I will play it cool and keep my personal information to myself.

Sincerely,

Casual Customer

P.S. Little did I know that if I admit I “like” you on Facebook you get even more excited and not only send me emails, but also take over my newsfeed. Have some self-respect. Maybe even see a counselor. This much need for attention from others is unhealthy.

 
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Posted by on April 29, 2014 in Humor, Uncategorized

 

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