The world’s biggest lies: The check is in the mail, the service tech will be there between 1-4 and this package contains 14 servings of ice cream.
My cleaning lady lends whole new meaning to the term “disposable razor.” Whenever she spots one in the shower, she throws it away. Then I can’t find my stash, so I can’t replace it, which means that if my legs look hairier than usual, you will know why. And why does she also think that my soap is expendable? A sliver being tossed I understand (although I am frugal enough to use it until there is nothing left), but half a bar of soap? And what does she do with the dishrag in the sink? I always have plenty of garbage after the house is cleaned. Now I know why.
There’s not much I can’t do with a letter opener or a pair of scissors. One of my letter openers (yes, I have several) is too dull to actually open a letter (and, yes, I still get letters, but I mostly open bills), but it is perfect to help me put up the storm windows. Don’t ask. One night last month I was hot and I realized the storm windows were still down, so I grabbed my trusty letter opener and proceeded to try to pull down the screens and I dropped the letter opener on the roof of the sunroom. So there I am at 11 PM, pajama-clad, flashlight in hand, long mop at the ready, fishing the letter opener off the sunroom roof. I knew I would need it and didn’t want it to get away. Yes, I may be a little crazy.
I have a collection of black pants that could only be exceeded by those in Johnny Cash’s closet. But I think they conspire against me. Sometimes I’ll look for a particular pair and can’t find them. Are they at the cleaners, I wonder? And then I go back to the closet the next day and they are there, or I find a pair I don’t even remember having. I think they step out and sneak back in, and sometimes bring along friends.
I frequently pass a parked truck from Somerset Hills Towing that is emblazoned with the company’s SHT initials. Somehow, my demented mind always sees the letter I in there. At least I amuse myself.
I don’t even know what millings are, but every time I pass a handmade sign on Route 206 that says “Free Millings” I am tempted to call the number to find out how I can get some. The allure of FREE is powerful stuff.
We live in a world where there are little cartoon figures called emojis that people can use to express their feelings instead of using actual words, where the noun “friend” has become a verb (you can “friend” me on Facebook) and where a tradename has also become a verb, “I’ll just Uber to the show.” My former English teachers are spinning in their graves and lamenting the decline and fall of civilization as we knew it.
So I get into a Town Car recently on the crowded streets of New York and the very nice/nosy driver starts asking me a million questions (long ride, too much time in car). By the end of the ride I had claimed to be a married woman (28 years) with a 25-year old son and a husband who was responsible for all car maintenance (his car was making a funny noise). It was easier than explaining that I'm not married because I haven't found the right guy, etc., and no I DON'T have grandchildren. I get these questions all the time as a "lovely older" woman. Is everyone just trying to fix me up or are they all that nosy? So now I have a new life, I guess.
There’s nothing like packing up your house to remind you of stuff you have that you didn’t remember owning (I have a giant glass cake server that I haven’t used in years; I packed it anyway), stuff you don’t want or need (how many mugs do I need when I don’t drink coffee?), stuff you should have gotten rid of long ago (a glass mug from my worst vacation ever, a week on Hilton Head Island when it NEVER STOPPED RAINING), and stuff you don’t need or want but which you cannot bring yourself to throw away (my bunny bowl and dish from when I was a baby; I wonder who might want to take that off my hands as a sentimental reminder of me). I just wrapped the cake server in a beach towel that is too frayed to use in public and which I have been saving to use for packing. I have sworn that the towel at least goes right into the trash as soon as I unpack!
Only I could break a nail while I sleep.
What is a better feeling than looking at your Kohl’s receipt and seeing that you saved more money than you spent? Is it even possible to pay full-price at Kohl’s? And for $6.99 (and then with a coupon, even less), I might as well buy a top that I might wear once. At that price, it’s cheaper than buying lunch!
I may be the only person on Facebook who doesn’t have kids or pets but still likes watching those videos with babies and their dogs.
You know you are a grammar nerd when you want to correct other people’s Facebook posts. I had a boss once who insisted that man’s greatest needs were food, water and to edit other people’s writing.
Who decided on the whole Initial Caps use thing? Why do we lower case the smaller words and Initial Cap the rest? Is the word “the” not worthy of a capital T unless it is the first word? And which words are appropriate to keep as small letters? Who makes these rules? Why Do I Waste Time Thinking About Them? Should “about” have been lower case?
We all like crunchy things in our food for a little texture, but one little bit of eggshell with my hard-boiled egg is NOT what I had in mind.
In my world, when someone has to undergo a surgical procedure or go for a colonoscopy, I consider the potential weight loss a “silver lining.”
When I put out the recycling, it almost looks like I have gift wrapped it. Everything is neatly tied up, boxes are cut so the pieces are all the same size, and the magazines and junk mail are placed tidily in their bags. I can’t help notice that my neighbors don’t seem to take the same measure of care. I see beer cartons and other boxes just piled up, not broken down or tied. I see bottles with labels and paper strewn about, sometimes even in plastic bags. Am I obsessed or are they just lazy? Or both?
I don’t know how people walk around ShopRite in shorts and tank tops. I put on a shirt, sweater or sweatshirt as I get out of the car – especially in the summer – so I won’t freeze in the dairy aisle. And the frozen food section? I try to steer clear of that one altogether. And if you have ever entered the section of Costco where they keep the salad, you understand exactly what freezing is.
Why is it that we have to nurture our plants and lawn, feed them, weed them and make sure they are properly watered, and yet weeds are ignored until they are pulled and can grow strong and hardy even between cracks in the sidewalk?
I don’t understand the expression, “Sign on the dotted line.” I’ve seen the line, and it is not dotted.
For those of you who follow me on Facebook, you know that I recently marked 15 years since I underwent surgery for colon cancer. I'm still here, and I use this occasion to urge any of you over age 50 to get a colonoscopy. Mine saved my life (thank you, Katie Couric, for televising yours). If I am around, I'll even drive you. It isn't as bad as you think and you get a lovely rest while under sedation. Don't put it off. It could save YOUR life. And while we are discussing screenings, don’t forget to schedule a mammogram, too, ladies. Steps off soapbox.
I recently went for my annual mammogram, which is the day you are not allowed to use powder or deodorant after a shower. I play “Hide the Deodorant,” stashing it somewhere the night before so I cannot routinely grab and use it. I did it so well that I couldn’t find it the next day. I’m back to the old routine now.
Life is a journey, and I am still trying to figure everything out. The only thing I know is that I don’t know everything. So I am still learning, which is what helps keep me alive.
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