September Wit and Wisdom

I have decided to get serious again about Weight Watchers.  The first step was to get rid of all the bad food in the house.  I can tell you that it was delicious. 

Every time I think to myself that I don’t need to write something down because I will remember it, I am wrong.

It took me 15 minutes, a pair of vise grip pliers and scissors to open my medicine bottle.  The instructions were in the tiniest type imaginable, written in white on the white bottle cap.  Who dreams up these ways to torture senior citizens?

Just curious – If you wear socks with your shoes, do you put on both socks first and then both shoes, or do you do a sock and a shoe and a sock and a shoe?  Archie and the Meathead had this debate once on “All In the Family.”  And why do we say, “Put on your shoes and socks?”  No matter whether you do the socks first or one each, the socks ALWAYS have to come before the shoes.  (I know you are thinking, “Tina really has too much time on her hands.”)

Speaking of socks, OK, forget the missing socks.  Now I’m trying to figure out what happens to all of my headphones.  I come back from my walk and put them in the same place each time.  Except when I don’t, and then I can’t find them.  It has gotten to the point where I buy two pairs at the same time so I will have a competent back-up.  And the original ones – which you would think would turn up eventually – only occasionally make a return appearance.  Where do they go?  (Oops – found them…)

What is this huge obsession with all things pumpkin-flavored every fall?  People seem (to me) overly enthralled with the availability of pumpkin spice lattes, with pumpkin muffins and other baked goods from their favorite donut/coffee shops.  Folks, if you love pumpkin stuff that much, I have news for you:  You can bake your own muffins, breads, etc., all year round.  I guess it isn’t quite the same as hitting the drive-through at Dunkin’ Donuts, but this level of excitement baffles me.

I have finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up.  I want to be the voiceover person for “House Hunters.”  How hard can it be to go into a recording studio and spend the next 8 hours reciting this scintillating dialogue?  “So far, real estate agent Melody has shown Chet and Angie a craftsman home that he prefers and a colonial that Angie likes.  Now Melody has found a house that she thinks will blend their two styles.”  Sign me up!

At least once a day I’m sure I have misplaced my phone, sometimes when I have it in my hand.

What is more annoying than hearing a crumb rattling around in the toaster when no amount of shaking seems able to dislodge it?

English is a strange language, as we all know.  Can anyone explain why we pronounce the word Colonel – as in Colonel Sanders – as if it were spelled Kernel?   There is no letter R anywhere to be found.

Recently, my BFF asked me if I talk to myself (sure, I ask myself questions like the Colonel Sanders one, above…).  I immediately began muttering to myself, which is apparently why she asked the question.  When you live alone, you tend to talk to yourself, I reason.  There are days when I don’t make a sound, and then when I finally talk to someone on the phone, I’m told I sound hoarse.  That’s because I haven’t spoken all day!  So I need to talk to myself.  That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

How many days should you leave wrinkled clothes hanging in the bathroom to be “steamed” by the shower before you give up and iron them or take them to the cleaners to be pressed?  Just asking.

Do you get that sinking feeling when you try to sign on to something on-line and you aren’t sure whether you know your password?  And then it comes up automatically, which the privacy gurus tell us should not be done but we are so relieved when it happens.

Overheard at the library (I know, you aren’t supposed to talk, but I was just listening):
40ish woman talking to elderly-looking man – So how old are you anyway?
Elderly-looking man – Oh, I’m getting up there.
(At this point, I’d doing a side eye to get a glimpse of the old codger.)
Her – Age is only a number!
Him – I’m about to be 63.
(Me, not talking, but thinking, Hey, I’m older than he is. But I don’t look “elderly,” right?)

The woman ahead of me on the line at RiteAid had to punch about a million keys at the register to get checked out.  I could write my autobiography with fewer keystrokes.

I firmly believe that knowing your limitations is a good thing.  While I can calculate 25% off at a sale at Macy’s, and while I am frequently the one to figure out how to split the check at a restaurant, I recognize that only those few things are in my math wheelhouse.  Don’t ask me about algebra or anything calculus-related, etc.  That’s why I am grateful to have been born in 1950.  At an early age, I recognized that it would always be easy to figure out how old I am.  Now that I am in my 7th decade and 2nd millennium and getting older, I really appreciate that convenience.

If I am tied up but my plans change, does that mean I have been untied?

Someone just used the expression, “Just my 3 cents worth.”  Three cents?  When did inflation take this expression from two cents to three cents?  And, by the way, I wouldn’t have given him a penny for his thoughts!

When you are buying boxes of tissues, do you try to match the design of the box to your décor, or don’t you care?  I have been known to take apart a store display just to get the right box.
I have also been known to climb up the shelves in the supermarket to reach things.  Let’s face it, nearly everything is out of my reach!  And there is so little help around in the store to assist.

I don’t want to say I am a sloppy cook, but I recently set off the smoke alarm (which, with my extensive experience, I knew exactly how to stop from wailing), and when I was done cooking, my kitchen looked like I was the victim of a home invasion.  And the final product wasn’t even that tasty!
I don’t want to say I am distracted lately, but I almost put the Fabuloso Toilet Cleaner in the refrigerator.  Hey, it looked like juice!

It’s really scary when the “storm of the century” happens every few years.  And these reporters who stand outside, getting battered by the wind and rain, are crazy.  If I were a reporter, my mother would forbid me from going outside to report on a storm.  And if that wouldn’t dissuade me, I’m sure she would have some choice words for the station management.  Really, do these folks HAVE to stand outside during the storm?  We get it – it’s REALLY windy.  Can’t we tell that by watching the trees bend in half?

It wasn’t even 6 PM and half of the people in my active adult community had already put their recycling by the curb for the morning pick-up.  I’m guessing they hauled it out on their way to an early bird dinner.

One thing great about living here at Canal Walk is that everyone on my street has a beautiful view of the sunset behind our homes.  And when it is especially pretty, we will text each other to be sure no one misses seeing it.  It really is the little things in life that bring me joy.  Simple pleasures.