Left Behind – A Rapture Scare Incited by Toddler’s Hide-And-Seek Game

4 Comments

Toddling crumbsnatchers love games. Especially “Hide and Seek.” Especially with their parents. And it seems to be exceedingly fun for the tiny tots when Mom and Dad have no clue they are joining in the game.

It was 1991 and I thought The Rapture had occurred leaving me behind eight years before I expected. My entire generation knew the world would end at 11:59 p.m. on December 31st, 1999 just like Prince predicted. We just weren’t clear whether it would Eastern or Central Standard Time.

1999 (song)

Party like it’s 1999 (song) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Eldest was barely old enough to toddle around our tiny two-bedroom house. One afternoon, things went a little too quiet. Oh geez, what is he getting into? I looked for him, but he was nowhere to be found in the barely 800 square-foot home. I swear.

I started in back in his room which contained nothing more than an armoire and a baby-bed standing one foot off the ground. He wasn’t there. I glanced at his two windows, and both were closed.

His room opened into the dining room. It held a four-legged dining table and a hope chest. There were no barefoot feet under the table. And the hope chest was locked.

To my right was the kitchen. The back door hadn’t been touched, otherwise I’d have heard. When someone opened the door, it sounded like the hinges on the gates of hell. At least what I suspected they sounded like.

I checked every cabinet and inside the oven. Oh sweet Jesus, where is this child? 

I began to wonder how I’d explain to Officer D.A.R. that I’d lost his son.

“Hey honey,how was your day?”

“Good.”

“I’ve got some chicken and rice in the oven for dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

“By the way, I lost The Eldest today.”

“Good lord woman. How’d you manage that?”

That’s when I thought maybe The Rapture had occurred.

Rapture sign -- Holding up well after 14 years...

It wasn’t 1992 yet, but close enough to scare! (Photo credit: marcn)

I did a quick spiritual inventory and began to sweat. Growing up in a staunch southern Baptist household, I recounted my sins. I didn’t record those two extra Weight Watchers points for the M&M’s I’d stolen from The Eldest’s snack. And look at me, I’m a thief! I just took the Lord’s name in vain when I thought “Oh sweet Jesus, where is this child?” Oh sweet Jesus, I just did it again. And again. Stop it. ‘Cause thinking is just as bad as doing.’ That’s what Mrs. Priss always said in Sunday School. 

I checked the linen closet. Under the sheets. In pillowcases. My thoughts continued to count my transgressions.

Damn it, where is that child? Oh great, now I’m cursing. If Jesus is planning on coming back to get me, I better watch my mouth. Please forgive me for everything I’ve forgotten to ask forgiveness for.

“Son! You better stop hiding and come out. I know you hear me calling you!”

I know I’m behind on my daily Bible reading, but can’t You cut me a little slack? You can see I have a toddler. And yesterday, I skipped “Days of Our Lives” to read him the Sampson story for the millionth time.

Oops, do You consider exaggerations to be lies? I didn’t know. Forgive me. 

By this time, I’d checked the bathroom and our teeny-tiny living room.

“If you are in my bedroom, I’m going to kill you!”

Oh sweet Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. And this time I meant “Oh sweet Jesus” as a term of endearment. 

I scoured the bedroom with no luck. I walked back into the living room and plopped on the couch. With elbows on my knees, I placed my face in my palms and began to bargain in prayer.

Lord, if this is The Rapture, please come back and get me. I don’t want to spend the next seven years of Tribulation with my mother-in-law. Cause I know You didn’t take her. And Lord, if I’ve just lost my child, can You please help me find him? I promise I won’t kill him, but I’m not so sure Officer D.A.R. won’t kill me if I don’t find his child before he gets home. You’d kind of be preventing a homicide, right? And I know You believe in free will and all, but just this once can’t You give the Methodist’s a nod with a little pre-destination that I will find him? 

Suddenly, I heard a snicker from the back bedroom.

Never mind, Jesus. I found him. But hey, we’re all caught up if The Rapture does come soon, right?

“Y” is for: Y Weren’t U @ Skool – 10 Pre-Written Excuses for Teenaged Tardiness/Absence

Leave a comment

Y

I’m a night owl, except for the nights when I go to bed with the sun.  I’m an early riser, except for the days when I snooze until the McDonald’s menu changes from breakfast to lunch. Basically, I’m saying I’m inconsistent.

And because of that, I don’t get up to see the crumbsnatchers off to school.  Knowing that teenagers will take advantage of opportunities afforded by lazy parents, I think ahead.  At the start of each semester, I prepare notes the crumbsnatchers can choose from if they decide they don’t want to take responsibility to get their drowsy derrieres to school on time.

I realize school is almost out for summer, but here’s a sampling:

1)      Please excuse ____________________ tardiness.  His/Her sheets were so dirty we had to de-flea this morning.  Yes, the sheets.  Not the student, but feel free to check him/her upon arrival.

2)      Please excuse ____________________ tardiness.  He/She was dreaming about unicorns pooping rainbows and butterflies.  I read a lot of Dr. Seuss to him/her before bedtime.

3)      Please excuse ____________________ tardiness.  He/She ate an entire box of Brown Sugar and Cinnamon Pop Tarts before bed and sat up all night tweeting things like “#Poptarts #sugar #high”

4)      Please excuse ____________________ tardiness.  He/She was feeling ill and wanted to stay home but I don’t want their germs so I dragged him/her from under the covers, loaded him/her up with cold meds and sent them on their way.  Three hours ago.

5)      Please excuse ____________________ tardiness.  He/She claimed it was Saturday but I never flipped my calendar and I still say it’s Friday.  If it actually is Saturday, then please disregard the necessity for a tardy excuse and heap praise on him/her for Monday’s early arrival.

My method also works to hold absences to a bare minimum.

1)      Please excuse ____________________ absence yesterday.  He/She had explosive diarrhea that ran us completely out of the house.  Have you ever smelled a town with a paper mill and a skunk preserve?  Kind of like that, only worse.

2)      Please excuse ____________________ absence yesterday.  After a thorough interrogation and lie detector test by local FBI, he/she was cleared of all suspicion of being a Russian spy.

3)      Please excuse ____________________ absence yesterday.  He/She ate my last Klondike bar and was hiding in his/her closet all day.

4)      Please excuse ____________________ absence yesterday.  He/She had a cereal hangover after eating an entire box of Frosted Flakes doused with chocolate milk.

5)      Please excuse ____________________ absence yesterday.  He/She died from embarrassment about something stupid that happened the previous school day, then had an out-of-body experience where he/she saw all the people that wanted to follow them on Instagram!  It brought him/her back to life.  It’s a miracle!

Which one is your favorite excuse, and what pre-written excuse would you write?  I need to stockpile for the “Senioritis” attacks we expect from Wolfy and Sweet Pea when they return to school in August.

                                                                                                                                                         

“N” is for News–Or is it?

7 Comments

N

I don’t watch the news very often. I rely on fabulous bloggers like Elyse at FiftyFourAndAHalf.com to keep me updated on the news I might actually be interested in. And Twitter feeds which are every bit as fascinating and as accurate as our local news outlets.

But tonight, while cooking dinner, The Eldest and I shared a little news bonding time outside of our normal Daily Show and Colbert Report.

We were treated to two—not one but two—EXCLUSIVE LIVE CHOPPER FIVE NEWS VIEWS. But before I share those shots with you, since some of you aren’t privy to Memphis local news stations, let me tell you why I stopped watching local news.

It was 2005, years after Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” campaign encouraged peer-pressured teens to pass on the cocaine lines and ganja puffs. Husband2.0 and I tuned in to the Chapel Hill, NC news just in time to learn about a large drug bust in nearby Durham, NC. Blue lights flashed on the screen from no less than ten police cruisers. I was proud that our force was cracking down on hardened drug traffickers! The anchor informed us that police seized…

“FIFTY grams of marijuana!” with much emphasis on the “fifty” and big round eyes to drive home the danger we were all in with this much hippie lettuce on the streets.

Wow! I felt so much safer.

Until I used my brain. I looked at Husband2.0 and said, “Did she say ‘FIFTY grams of marijuana’?”

“Yep.”

“Ummm, isn’t that about the amount in my Lawry’s Pumpkin Pie Spice container?”

“Yep.”

A container of pumpkin pie spice. Español: Un ...

Seriously, go grab one of your spice containers and see how much fifty grams is. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And that’s why I stopped watching local news.

But after tonight’s two—not one but two—EXCLUSIVE LIVE CHOPPER FIVE NEWS VIEWS, I might reconsider my news watching habits.

The first EXCLUSIVE LIVE FIVE CHOPPER NEWS VIEW was of the top of the Memphis post office because that’s where the ricin-laced letters sent to the POTUS and Sen. Roger Wicker (R-MS) where postmarked.

And the second EXCLUSIVE FIVE LIVE CHOPPER NEWS VIEW was of another building where something of so much significance happened that I’ve already forgotten what it was.

I think it’s back to the Daily Show and Colbert Report for me. At least we get funny faces with their news reports.

“J” is for Just Sayin’

8 Comments

Yeah, I know I’m a day behind, but give me a break.  I just came off a 6 day game of Hide-and-Seek and I Spy.

"J" is for Just Sayin'

“J” is for Just Sayin’

Recently, I learned that there are certain individuals who believe I have a super power and I use it for evil manipulation.  That super power is the use of “Vocabulary.”

That’s probably the highest praise my writing has received to date.

You see, to take words and group them in such a way to transfer the author’s thoughts to paper, then transfer from paper to the mind of the reader, without any loss to the original intent, indeed, is an artful and skillful feat.  One could call it manipulation, but most people call it communication.

Maybe I should try my super power at Mickey D’s to score a free apple pie.

“Excuse me, can you watch my mouth while I speak to you.”  [That’s how you activate the super power when you can’t use email.]

Then I’d lick my plump lips, triggering my super-duper Vocabulary power, and say,

“I’m of the recent persuasion that my nutritional needs require the ingestion of sustenance comprising warmed fruit compote wrapped in a baked, flaky tartlet.”

Miss Would-You-Like-Fries-With-That would be mesmerized by my words and would robotically turn to the warming area to grab an apple pie and toss into my bag along with my calorie-laden and cholesterol saturated #8 combo.

A McDonald's apple pie.

Forget using my super power to bring about world peace.  I want an apple pie! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

To be honest, I’m not trying to manipulate anyone.  I simply desire to communicate thoughts utilizing a collection of words designed to convey meaning.   But it appears my multi-syllabic word choices give off the wrong impression.

“Really?  Because I used the word ‘exacerbate’?”

“Yeah.  They think you just make words up.”

I was speechless for 23.5 seconds, which just so happens to be my personal best.

“So you’re telling me

that because I’m literate,

someone believes I’m trying to manipulate them…

with the English language…

THEIR NATIVE TONGUE?”

Granted, text speak has dumbed down our vocabulary but it’s got me a little scared to orate with populaces.  What would they deliberate if I articulated that I was to be matriculated by the university soon?

I asked Chief that question and he said, “Ain’t nobody gonna matriculate you but me!”

Maybe we should encourage more use of Dictionary.com’s Word of the Day app.

Just sayin’.

“Hide-and-Seek” and “I Spy” by Bowls The Cat

14 Comments
"H" is for Hide-and-Seek

“H” is for Hide-and-Seek

"I" is for I Spy

“I” is for I Spy

***Note from Mama Bread Baker***

Bowls the Cat was found last night at Sonic after he escaped on “D” day. This is some of what he wrote. Chief and I, and all the Crumbsnatchers are happy to have him home.

****************

It’s been six days since Sweet Pea took me for a ride in her snazzy, jazzy car to get a Reese’s Pieces Blizzard from Sonic. Boyfriend2.0 went with her, and I decided it would be fun to play a game of hide-and-seek with them. So, after I got my ice cream I jumped out of her car and hid.

Sweet Pea & Boyfriend2.0 immediately started playing and I barely had time to pick good spot. They found me real quick.

I hate losing, but I figured we had time for Two-Out-Of-Three. So, when they put me back in the car, I jumped out the other door before Boyfriend2.0 could close it, and I hid again.

I know Sweet Pea was having fun because she brought some friends along to play our game. They looked everywhere while I snickered at them from my super-secret hiding spot. Sweet Pea even called Mama Bread Baker and Chief Money Maker to join in the fun. I was thrilled because they hardly ever leave the house.

Just between you and me, those lazy bums could use the exercise, know what I mean?

Anyway, it’s day six and they still haven’t found me. How good am I, huh?

MBB put up all these bright yellow fliers with my picture on it. Cheater. I’ll have to teach her a lesson about integrity when I’m announced the winner of this on-going, tedious game.

I’ll cut her some slack, though, because she was surely trying to one-up CMM. Those two make everything a contest. So tiresome.

The picture she used for the fliers wasn’t my favorite. I’d just eaten and felt all bloated and stuff. I hadn’t even washed my hair yet that day, and obviously, MBB hadn’t vacuumed that rug in weeks.

Bowls Reward

I wish she’d used the one with me and that smelly dog they insist upon calling my “brother.” It showed my best side, if I do say so myself. Hint…it’s my butt.

So I’m just sitting here, shellacking, waiting for MBB and her new friend, Beth, to come back and play the game today. They’ve been coming every day. A couple times they tried to trick me by coming out at night, but I’m not falling for that. No way, Guadalupe!

I did start to feel sorry for them, so I decided to help them out a little. I let the Sonic manager see me this morning. Then he called MBB and her new friend, Beth.

“I’m 99% sure it’s him,” he said.

Geez, you would think for as long as I sat there he’d be a 100% sure. Humans. No confidence whatsoever.

So now MBB’s brought a new friend to help her out. MBB called her Colleen and told her that she’d been married to Chief for 2 years today and all she wants is to win this game.

I should probably give up. I’m so much smarter than my people. If I wait until they actually find me, I’ll grow gray in the whiskers and I don’t really want to live at Sonic forever–no matter how good their Blizzards are!

Sweet Pea and her friends gave up a couple of hours ago. MBB and Colleen haven’t spotted me yet. Now here comes CMM. He’s got the flashlight and he’s checking all around.

Awwww, man. Beth just opened some deliciously smelly mackrel.

preppin' bait... yum.

preppin’ bait… yum. (Photo credit: tiny.tussle)

That’s a low blow. How am I supposed to resist that? Ok, ok. I give.

I’m tired anyway. It’s time to go home.

Very tired Kitty-Boy after 6 days of Hide-and-Seek

Very tired Kitty-Boy after 6 days of Hide-and-Seek

D is for Devastated. We lost Bowls the Cat

5 Comments

C

                                     D

I intended a post yesterday titled “Crumbsnatcher Tales Book Coming Soon”, but before I could write the post, Bowls the Cat ditched us.  Sweet Pea and Boyfriend2.0 took him to Sonic last night?  Yes, there is a question mark after that sentence.  I know cats like milk, but don’t ya think a Snickers Blizzard is going a little overboard?

They opened the car door to chat with some friends, and Bowls darted out and under the car next to them.  Boyfriend2.0 received kitty-claw lacerations while attempting to coax him from the undercarriage of the vehicle next to them.  Somehow, someone got him and placed him in the driver side of the car and he promptly darted out the passenger side before Boyfriend2.0 could close it.

Bowls2

Now D is for “Devastated.”  But we’re hopeful, and by that I mean I hope I’m not going to be still looking for him by the time we reach H.  I’d prefer to write about him when we get to F for “Found.”   Or maybe a nice G for “Got Him.”

So forgive me if I’m off my funny game today.  I’ll leave you with part of what I intended to post yesterday.  A teaser to “Crumbsnatcher Tales – A Family One Talking Dog Away From a Sitcom.”  Coming this summer.

“Crumbsnatcher Tales – A Family One Talking Dog Away From a Sitcom” takes a humorous look at life in a blended family of five teenagers, three dogs, a cat, and a fish. Mama Bread Baker works to find a recipe for harmony for this family that will produce a blend resembling something other than baby diaper pooh. Mama Bread Baker is old school parenting adapted for today’s blended families. For example, when called an evil stepmother, she gently reminds The Eldest that she’s his biological mother! Her Tennexas wit(her self-dubbed style of writing named such to honor her Texas adolescence and Tennessee living) will have you repeating one of her favorite phrases. “If you can’t beat ‘em…then how the hell am I supposed to learn ‘em?” 

Qualify for a chance to win a free signed copy.  Ten lucky new subscribers in the month of April will receive a copy when released.  Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right to be qualified for a free book when released.

Also if you subscribe, or comment on this blog posting, you may have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”  

 

Bait and Hook – Outfishing Chief Money Maker.

2 Comments

Snagging a man has everything to do with using the right bait, and little to do with finding a honey hole. And let’s get real. You can always get a man to bite any time of the day.

Whether or not he’s a keeper is totally for you to decide.

Chief thought I was a pretty good catch right up until I out-fished him on our honeymoon. Two days earlier, he’d proudly stood in the receiving line after our nuptials explaining to all who passed that his lovely bride had chosen Lindsey’s Trout Resort in Arkansas for our honeymoon destination.

He thought I’d chosen it because I knew how much he loved to trout fish when I’d actually selected the resort because we’d be out of cell phone range and farther than a shout of “Mom!” away from the crumbsnatchers.

It was the first time he’d misjudged my motives, and if I continue to hone my skills, it won’t be the last.

Point is, we were both happy with the choice for whatever reason. Until the honeymoon disaster began. It started with the simplest of requests of the Wal-mart cashier. “Where’s your beer?”

“You passed it about 45 miles back,” she said, letting me know she’d marked us for tourists–and that apparently they only had one way in and out of this no-beer town.

Chief smiled and told her, “Thank you,” while placing his hand over my mouth before I could say, “You do know prohibition ended, right?”

English: Bentonville, Arkansas: This is the fi...

I know we were in Arkansas but no beer? Really? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lucky for us, he’d brought along the leftover wine and champagne from our wedding, saving our marriage for at least another 30 minutes. We found our love shack situated on the banks of some twisty river that promised to excite Chief with its trout action. Good thing because I didn’t want to set a precedent for the rest of our prison term blissful years of marriage that would lead Chief to believe he’d be getting a lot of action from me.

As we relaxed on the porch of our love shack, a bat swooped past giving us his best “Top Gun” impression. I hit the deck. Chief, being my newly nuptial-ed protector assured me the bat wouldn’t return.

I was disappointed to learn that my husband of barely 24 hours was a freaking liar. Fifteen seconds later the bat dive-bombed me. Wine glass went flying, arms flailed and I ran into the love shack slinging the sliding glass door shut behind me. When I finally opened my eyes, it was to a vision of Chief on the porch doubled-over in laughter.

The next day, we went fishing. Chief rigged my rod with a red plastic jiggly worm and I was catching trout left and right.

Red Wiggler Worms

Only my worm was plastic. Or just dead. I’m not really sure. (Photo credit: net_efekt)

Big ones, little ones, brown ones, rainbow ones. Chief half-heartedly cheered me on so I decided to let him use his red plastic jiggly worm so he’d stop pouting like a two-year old whose pacifier had been yanked from his mouth. He tossed the line in the water, and at the other end of the boat, I caught Granddaddy trout with the bait he’d been using.

Maybe it ain’t about the bait after all. ;-)

An “A” for Effort – Chief Money Maker Tries to Keep Wallet in Pocket

9 Comments

a-to-z-letters-a

You’d think a Master’s degree would imply a certain level of critical thinking ability that would enable Chief Money Maker to hang onto his wallet. That is until he tries to follow teenage logic or gets married. I’ve gotta give the man an “A” for effort, though.

Chief Money Maker on taking out a second mortgage for a prom dress:

CMM: “She can wear it again next year, right?”

MBB: “No.”

CMM: “But you’ll sell it to recoup the finance charges right?”

MBB: “No. She’ll want to keep it in her hope chest.”

CMM: “I hope those are real gold sequins and that the price of gold doesn’t go down before we have to sell it to make our mortgage–

“Here’s my wallet.”

Chief Money Maker on Sweet Pea’s need for a pedicure before a weekend softball tournament:

CMM: “But no one will see your toes.”

SWEET PEA: “They will in the hotel room.”

CMM: “Here’s my wallet!”

Chief Money Maker on tanning packages:

CMM: “But there are lounge chairs beside the pool I just put in last summer.”

SWEET PEA: “Yeah, but I don’t want to get sunburned.”

CMM: “Here’s my wallet!”

Chief Money Maker on putting in long hours of work:

CMM: “I logged over 12 hours every day this week.”

MBB: “That’s great honey, but 16 would be better.”

CMM: “Why?”

MBB: “8 for you and 8 for me, so I can go shopping for flowers and more wine.”

CMM: “Here’s my wallet.”

MBB Gardens

From Texana’s Kitchen: About A Boy…A Tape Measure…And A Footlong Weenie

1 Comment

I simply had to reblog this post by Christine Friesenhahn over at Texana’s Kitchen.  It’s a must read, I assure you.

About A Boy…A Tape Measure…And A Footlong Weenie

English: A Stanley PowerLock tape measure.

English: A Stanley PowerLock tape measure. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Never underestimate the importance of knowing your weights and measures.

For Christmas one year, my mother gifted my boys with Home Depot tool boxes, complete with the full range of functional, but small-sized tools.  They each had a hammer, saw, pliers, screwdriver, wrench, level and tape measure.  Most children, when in possession of such items as hammers and saws, would immediately set about harming themselves or property with these tools.  Not my kids.  For my kids, it was the tape measure.

We all know that men get really hung up on the size of their “bits and pieces”, but being from a family full of girls, I had no idea that this obsession begins in boys at such a young age.  When he was in Kindergarten, my youngest informed me that his bits were bigger than Jacob’s bits.  As it turns out, the kindergarten boys were in the habit of conducting side-by-side comparisons.  Nice.

Click here to continue reading…

If I’d Drowned The Crumbsnatchers at Birth, I’d Be Out of Prison By Now!

11 Comments

The teen years are traumatic.  There’s the crying, the mood swings, the feelings of insecurity, the desire to permanently check out of Lifebook.

And that’s when I’m having a good day.

The stress is enough to make even Freud go mad.  Take this  for example:  Sweet Pea’s a teenaged girl.

And by that I mean she’s crazy.

She asked me last week to bring Boyfriend2.0 to her softball game.  Then she sent a text ten minutes after I should have left telling me what time I should leave.  Then she sent another text telling me to come early.  Half-way en route to Boyfriend2.0’s house, she sent another text.

“Don’t come.” 

I called Boyfriend2.0, gave him the scoop, did a U-turn and headed to the house.  Once home, I poured a glass of wine, left it on the counter for Chief Money Maker, grabbed the rest of the bottle and settled down in the recliner just as my phone went off again.

“NVM.  Come.”

I resisted the urge to reply, “Can you chill Sybil?” only because I knew she’d respond with a confused Emoji.

Dazed and Confused

Not an Emoji but sill Dazed and Confused (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Instead I retreated to my favorite hiding spot.  The washing machine.  Trust me, they never look there.

Split Sweet Pea personality aside, we’ve also got another newly-licensed teenaged driver in the house.  And by that I mean our insurance rates have just surpassed the national deficit.

It’s a good thing we live on a corner lot because the streets around our abode look like Harry’s Honda Hacienda, only with less reliable vehicles.

1951 Buick

1951 Buick (Photo credit: Hugo90)

The upside is that with two teen crumbsnatchers out and about on weekend nights, I don’t have to fabricate ways to push Sweet Pea’s curfew up so I can go to bed at 8:30 pm.  Now I feign a headache—instead of admitting my right knee feels like a grenade sporadically exploding because I know CMM will make me go back to Dr. Frankenstein—and leave the watch to him.

Don’t mistake my words for complaining—despite the truth that I am complaining.  Having teenaged crumbsnatchers isn’t all that bad.  As parents of these communication-challenged Cretans, we get fun experiences like debating their anemic critical thinking processes.

“Wolfy, can you run to the grocery store and pick up some milk?”

“Sure, if you give me gas money.”

“You want ME to give YOU gas money to compensate YOU for driving to the store to get milk, which I don’t even drink, in MY VEHICLE?”

“Uhhhhhh, yeah.”

Thank goodness The Eldest has matured to the point that we can hold productive intelligent conversations.  Just the other night he offered great feedback on the cover for my short story, “The Butterfly Wish.”  I felt proud, optimistic, and hopeful.

Right up until he said, “Oh, and you should consider a pen name.  Who names an adult Cheri?”

“Well, I wasn’t an adult when my mother named me!”

“Think about it, Mom.  Would you want to read a book written by Strawberry Johnson?”

“That’s not my name!”

“Ok, so would you want to read a book written by Fruity Thacker?”

“That’s still not my name…but I get it!”

The Crumbsnatchers might not be the brightest baubles on Pinterest, but sometimes…they do make good points.

© 2013 CThacker

Strange Disease Excuses to Use When You Miss Bunco…or Work!

4 Comments

I’ve committed THE cardinal sin among women.  I missed a Friday night Bunco group where I was to serve as a sub, and death was not my reason.  This faux paus shelved my dreams of being inaugurated as the newest member of this elite society.

English: Four coloured 6 sided dice arranged i...

Our dice aren’t colored.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wish I’d had a better reason for missing, like Dipsomania, but then again most Bunco group members suffer from that anyway.

[Editor’s note:  A complete description of all mentioned diseases is included at the bottom of this post]

The texts started coming in at 7:05 pm.  I didn’t see them until well after 9:00 pm, and then it took almost an hour before I could recover from the embarrassment enough to respond.  During that time, I ran through my options.

I could explain my absence by stating a family member had permanently logged out of Lifebook.  But despite the fact it wasn’t true, I feared living with years of guilt if the person I chose for their untimely demise actually DID demise.  I contemplated putting the blame on a sick crumbsnatcher, but much like the first excuse, I was petrified one would actually get sick.  Then I’d spend the next few days yelling at them to keep their filthy germs in their filthy rooms where they belong.

I browsed strange diseases that might come and go fleetingly, leaving no signs of previous illness.  Saturday Night Palsy wouldn’t do since it was too closely related to Dipsomania.  I couldn’t go with Lanchonophobia because I was pretty sure at least two people saw me munching on carrots at the last Bunco gathering.

Carrot diversity

Carrot diversity (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’d composed a text with an apology and an explanation that I was suffering from Jumping Frenchmen of Maine which could cause me to injure another player.  Plus we’d only have spent the whole night retrieving the dice from the backyard, and who would find that fun?  Chief nixed that excuse pretty quickly reminding me that I was already known in the area as the “Hoochie-Mama who passed out on the bank in her heels at a Catfish Rodeo  at 7:00 am in the morning.”

Yeah, I did that right after a bout with Saturday Night Palsy…on a Friday.

If I were a Downtown Abbey watcher, I could have gotten by with an explanation of Empirism.

“What about Formication?” I asked Chief.

“I’m all for it, but I’m not sure the Bunco group would buy it, since you already hinted in your blog that my night is the first Tuesday of every month.”

“Oh yeah.  Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest in my blog, huh?”

Being the brilliant man that Chief Money Maker is, he finally suggested I go with the truth.  So I did.  I admitted that I’d gotten caught up in my writing and totally forgot that it was even Friday night.  Then I added this text in hopes that I would be given a Tosh.0 chance at redemption:

“And just so you know…As a writer I could have come up with a much better story but thought it best to stick to the truth as lame as it is.”

In hindsight, I should have added that I’d be willing to come next month and the group could give me Slapped-Face Disease.  But then again, I hear it itches like crazy and I just recovered from a bad case of Yeuk.

 

*Disease Definitions from Inherently Funny

http://www.inherentlyfunny.com/cat-55-funny_diseases.html

  1. Dipsomania – An uncontrollable craving for alcohol.
  2. Empirism - An awful affliction brought on by watching too much BBC; usually manifests in a British accent and a sudden craving for tea
  3. Formication – A hallucinated sensation that insects or snakes are crawling over your skin.
  4. Jumping Frenchmen of Maine – A sufferer of this disease displays highly exaggerated movements, and tend to leap out wildly. And despite the unusual name, it really exists.
  5. Lanchonophobia – The fear of vegetables.
  6. Saturday Night Palsy – Caused by nerve compression when you pass out in an awkward position.
  7. Slapped-Face Disease – It’s an actual disease. It looks like you have been slapped everywhere, and it itches like crazy.
  8. Yeuk - 15th century Middle English word used by the Scots meaning “to itch”. When not used as a verb, it is may be used to identify a particular sensation, i.e. the irritation of nerve endings in skin or mucous membrane that provokes the desire to scratch oneself silly if alone or look for a speedy exit if one is in mixed company. It’s also a popular name for the parasitic disorder “scabies”

 

 

Everything You Didn’t Know About Me Before and Wish You Didn’t Know Now

6 Comments

I love games.  Board games, baseball games, bedroom games, and blogging games.  I like the letter “B” too.  Kind of reminds me of my body shape if you look at me from the side.  I’m still struggling with that whole BMI thing.  (That’s shorthand for “Body Marshmallow Index” for those not up on the medical terminology.”

Anyway, my favorite Fifty Four And A Half friend, Elyse, tagged me for this game.

The Rules:

1. Post these rules. (CHECK)
2. Post a photo of yourself and eleven random facts about you. (CHECK)
3. Answer the questions given to you in the tagger’s post.  (CHECK)
4. Create eleven new questions and tag new people to answer them. (CHECK)
5. Go to their blog/twitter and let them know they have been tagged. (Be there shortly)

Here’s a picture when I was having a really good day.  You don’t want to see what I look like on days the Crumbsnatchers are driving me insane.

Mama Bread Baker

Now for the eleven facts you didn’t know before and will soon wish you didn’t know now.

  1. I have a huge writer’s crush on author Graham Brown.
  2. I haven’t read any of Graham Brown’s books…yet.
  3. I once stared at Graham Brown for an entire hour at the Killer Nashville Conference.
  4. I was sad to see The Oprah Show end because my dream of sitting on her couch talking about my best-selling novel died with her show.
  5. I was happy to learn Oprah owns her own television network, reviving my dream of sitting on her couch talking about my best-selling novel…maybe with Graham Brown?
  6. I’ll probably suggest “Graham” as a suitable name for my future grandchildren…both male and female.
  7. I occasionally eat graham crackers even though I’m gluten-intolerant.
  8. I use a brown font at my other blog – www.Highway310.com.
  9. Chief Money Maker has banned Teddy Graham’s from our house because I talk to them and pretend they are Graham Brown.
  10.  I follow Graham Brown on Facebook but I’m too shy to “talk” to him.
  11. Chief Money Maker hates Graham Brown.

Here are my answers to Elyse’s questions.

Were you closer to Mom or Dad (if you were spawned by aliens, please explain)  I believe I was standing closer to Mom when the gunshots were fired.  Oh wait…you meant emotionally.  Ummmm, probably Dad since Mom was the one shooting the gun.

There are moments in history that everyone alive at that time remember (for me it was the Kennedy assassination).  What was your first?  Hands down, the first time I licked the creamy center of an Oreo.  I’m sorry, I misunderstood again.  I thought you asked what my first memory was.  So…a moment in history after 1968 that everyone alive at the time remembers.  Hands down, that would have been 1974 when Oreo’s Double Stuff was introduced.

Favorite pet ever  What a timely question.  The Siamese Fighting Fish I got yesterday is my favorite pet ever.  He let me sleep in this morning! 

Funniest quote  “I can’t help but wonder if I’d drowned the crumbsnatchers at birth if I’d be out of prison by now.” – Mama Bread Baker

Best insult you ever delivered and why the recipient deserved it.  “You’re ugly and your Mama dresses you funny,” said to the grout cleaner per instructions to agitate.  It didn’t work very well.

First memory  Obviously that gunshot thing I mentioned in the first question.

What do you dislike most about blogging?  Probably the word “blogging.”  Couldn’t they have come up with something more appealing like “ego-stroking,” or “random strings of words put together after two and half bottles of wine”?

Do your friends/family members read your blog?  Just when they want to eat.  The pantry lock code won’t open unless a blog post is read first.

How would you be using your time right now if you weren’t answering my stupid questions  Easiest one yet…answering the Crumbsnatchers stupid questions.

Your dream job.  Professional wine Judge.

What you expect to be reincarnated as in your next life?  Professional wine Judge.

Eleven Questions My Blogging Friends Will Most Likely Ignore

  1. Do you have a crush on Graham Brown?
  2. Would you go on the Dr. Phil show to discuss an embarrassing family matter?
  3. Do you get the whole Twitter thing?
  4. How often do you Google yourself?
  5. Have you ever gone to jail?  (Please don’t reveal felonies here.  I don’t want to know you that well!)
  6. How often do you look at your crumbsnatchers (or any family member) and wonder if they were somehow switched at birth?
  7. What would you do if you found hordes of cash tucked in coffee cans of an old home you just purchased?
  8. Are you flat-footed?
  9. What’s your Body Marshmallow Index?
  10. Would you tell your best friend you saw his/her mother in a clandestine setting with someone other than his/her father?
  11. How many exercise videos do you own?

Now I’m tagging these folks.  Feel free to play along, but if you don’t it’s okay, because then I think I win although I’m not sure how the winner is determined in this game!

Liz from The Flip Side

Cathy from 5 Minutes for the Frazzled Mom

Karla from Telega Tales

Christie from Outlaw Mama

Ben from Ben’s Bitter Blog

 

 

Chief Money Maker’s Response to Post Valentine’s Day Analysis

Leave a comment

I knew when I gave Chief Money Maker his post Valentine’s Day analysis, he would have to respond.  He always has to get the last word when I give him the opportunity to speak…or in this case, write.  I’ve included the original Commandments to which he is responding, but you can click here to read the entire letter.

Dear Mama Bread Baker,

While we had a wonderful Valentines Day this 2013 year, I was almost enlightened by your posting last week.  Upon deep personal reflection, I would like to share what I learned on that wonderful day which is forever etched in my memory as “VD 2013.”  

Anthropomorphic Valentine, circa 1950–1960

Still Crazy About You! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

5 Valentine’s Day Shalt Not’s

Thou Shalt Not greet your bride, early in the morning, wearing a sparkly red Speedo while shouting “Happy VD Day, Honey!”

My Dearest Valentine, I must admit that a potbelly belongs on a wood burning stove, not a middle-aged man wearing a sparkly red Speedo!  For this, I must deeply apologize for any future nightmares you experience! I will also gladly fund your psychiatrist, or the number of cases of wine it will require, to erase that vision from your memory!  Hypnosis is also an option.

Thou Shalt Not claim the full glass of wine as yours, when your bride says it’s hers.

Yes Snookums, upon reading our marriage certificate’s fine print, I found the marital eminent domain section designating bride’s right to claim husband’s glass of wine any time she desires (Note to self:  Always ensure a spare bottle of wine is readily available when my bride’s wine glass is emptied misplaced, or any other time my bride deems it necessary to confiscate my glass).  

Thou Shalt Not refuse your bride’s offer of hot gummy lips –the candy you weirdo’s—by saying your recently pulled tooth makes it difficult to chew.

Sweetie, besides being the weirdo you married, I cannot refuse your Hot Lips!  I confess that it was not the candy that I desired, but a delicious kiss from the woman who has put me on a pedestal as the immortal Chief Money Maker.  *Editor’s Note:  Sucking up will do you no good! 

Thou Shalt Not tell the waiter your  wine choice was inspired by your bride while circling the air around your ear with your pointer finger no matter how funny you think it is.

Oh Sillyhead, I was not speaking to your lunacy but was simply conveying to the new waiter that I wanted “The Smoking Loon” wine.  You know that any mental instability you possess is a direct result of the Crumbsnatchers.  (Note to Self:  Hopefully she doesn’t catch on that I informed the new waiter that if he didn’t get us the wine soon, my wife’s reaction will make Charles Manson look like a choir boy).

Thou Shalt Not argue with your bride when she says the first twenty-seven holes of putt-putt were warm-up and declares herself Champion after winning the back nine.

Pumpkin, I must remember that you possess an extremely competitive nature.  It matters not that you preempted the game with a statement, “Prepare to have your butt handed to you!”.  Thankfully, this was a loving game of Putt-Putt and I was delighted to see that you enjoyed the last nine holes of the game, kind of. . . .

5 Valentine’s Day Shalt’s

Thou Shalt feel free to punch the waiter for calling your bride “fat” by asking, “And now for you, sir?” after she ordered three sushi rolls for the both of you.

My little Chunky Monkey, that poor waiter was obviously new and mentally walking through the waiter-for-dummies checklist: “Water? Drinks? Appetizers? For you ma’am? and for you Sir?” Personally, I think he wanted to get my order before I spotted the All-You-Can Eat Sushi special that night!

Thou Shalt remember to bring earplugs for your bride in the event a dear old great-great-grandmother, perhaps even one of the original Wizard of Oz flying monkeys, decides to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”….extremely off-key.

Oh, Lovebug, I did consider a drastic measure to help you forget about her performance, but it would have required me singing, which would resulted in the place emptying out, or all the patrons emptying their dinners onto the floor. Thus, I thought it best to remain firmly planted on my backside wishing that I could pull two pair of desired ear plugs from my pocket.

Thou Shalt support me in the future when I tell the Crumbsnatchers that I am not talking dirty after yelling, “Stop exacerbating my ill mood!” instead of calling me a “Potty Mouth” in front of them.

Unfortunately, Pooh Bear, today’s school systems are yielding a generation of kids who assume any multi-syllable word not associated with a rap singer must be a “dirty word”. Perhaps we need to take our governmental approach and dumb down our verbiage for this F-generation?  May I recommend the following response next time, “Stop pissing me off or I’ll pop a cap in your knee!”?   

Thou Shalt make mental note that, “Money’s tight, don’t worry about getting me a gift,” really means don’t worry about getting me an expensive gift.

Princess, thank you for setting me straight on this hidden meaning and I will ensure you are properly gifted next time.  This definitely resonates like the last similar guidance I received when I answered “Yes” after you asked me “Does this dress make my butt look big?” (By the way ,the knot on my head is no longer visible.)

Thou Shalt let your bride win the first twenty-seven holes of putt-putt so you don’t have to argue with her when she tells you they were warm-up while declaring herself Champion after winning the back nine.

Angel, I did try this tactic once when we were playing pool at which time it was clearly evident that I was “exacerbating” your foul mood and poor pool playing that evening.  Fortunately, none of the Crumbsnatchers were around as they would have definitely heard some “Potty Mouth” when you labelled me with a myriad of colorful names for allowing you to win. This was also the night that I hid the cast iron skillet when we got home as a precautionary measure.

Thank you for such a memorable Valentines 2013 along with a plethora lessons that I can take through our next Valentines Day. 

Love Always (except perhaps on the Putt-Putt fields)

Chief Money Maker 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 

The Spotlight’s On You! Vol 1:6

3 Comments

As part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things”, I promised to showcase a blog posting from one reader every week.  Here’s how YOU can be featured:

  • Subscribe to my blog
  • Follow @MamaBreadBaker on Twitter
  • Like Mama Bread Baker on Facebook
  • Leave a comment on any of my blog postings

Spotlight

The blog I chose for this week was posted by Ben over at Ben’s Bitter Blog where the tag line reads “we make bitter better.”   Ben followed my blog, probably because he’s bitter about how famous and popular my blog is.  But we are tolerant over here at Crumbsnatcher Tales and we accept all races of people, including the bitter.

The blog I chose is titled “I am an Idiot Bitterness.”   I was drawn to the title because 1) I’m married–which is only relevant on those occasions  I’m bitter because I’m no longer single and 2) because I’m a parent–which is only relevant on those occasions I’m bitter because I’m no longer childless.

I am an Idiot Bitterness

by Ben

Some people are good at acting or singing or making art or accounting.  I respect those people for being good at those things.  Except for the accountant.  Why would you want to be good at numbers?  So boorrrinng.  The art of creativity is awesome and people should be appreciated for their art whatever that may be(except you accounting, you aren’t creative).  I am good at a few things.  Being bitter comes to mind, writing, I think I’m pretty good at (except for grammar and words and punctuation.  I know some words, but the dictionary still hides a few…million that I don’t know.)

Click here to read the rest of this post.

Please check back tomorrow when Chief Money Maker responds to my Post Valentine’s Day Analysis.

A Post Valentine’s Day Analysis Results in 5 Thou Shalt Not’s and 5 Thou Shalt’s

2 Comments

Dear Chief Money Maker,

Since I plan to spend the rest of my life with you in spite of yesterday, and although I appreciate your valiant efforts, I’m offering you some advice in regards to Valentine’s Day.  Please feel free to apply in years to come only if you desire to remain among those we fondly call “The Living.”

Let’s—simply for organizational purposes—put these in the form of Commandments.

5 Valentine’s Day Shalt Not’s

Thou Shalt Not greet your bride, early in the morning, wearing a sparkly red Speedo while shouting “Happy VD Day, Honey!”

Thou Shalt Not claim the full glass of wine as yours, when your bride says it’s hers.

Thou Shalt Not refuse your bride’s offer of hot gummy lips –the candy you weirdo’s—by saying your recently pulled tooth makes it difficult to chew.

Thou Shalt Not tell the waiter your wine choice was inspired by your bride while circling the air around your ear with your pointer finger no matter how funny you think it is.

Smoking Loon Wine

Smoking Loon Wine

Thou Shalt Not argue with your bride when she says the first twenty-seven holes of putt-putt were warm-up and declares herself Champion after winning the back nine.

5 Valentine’s Day Shalt’s

Thou Shalt feel free to punch the waiter for calling your bride “fat” by asking, “And now for you, sir?” after she ordered three sushi rolls for the both of you.

Thou Shalt remember to bring earplugs for your bride in the event a dear old great-great-grandmother, perhaps even one of the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz, decides to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”….very poorly.

Thou Shalt support me in the future when I tell the Crumbsnatchers that I am not talking dirty after yelling, “Stop exacerbating my ill mood!” instead of calling me a “Potty Mouth” in front of them.

Thou Shalt make mental note that, “We’re tight honey, don’t worry about getting me a gift,” really means don’t worry about getting me one that costs over $100.00.

Thou Shalt let your bride win the first twenty-seven holes of putt-putt so you don’t have to argue with her when she tells you they were warm-up while declaring herself Champion after winning the back nine.

With all my love, kisses, and wishes for many more Valentine’s Day’s to come,

@}>—>–Mama Bread Baker

 X O X O X O X O X O

What Are The Chances I Could Mistake a Cookie for a Healthy Snack?

6 Comments

I’m a little late jumping on the 2013 “Get Fit and Trim” train.  It passes by every year on January 1st, but Chief and I decided to board after the Super Bowl.

Chief Money Maker and I could stand (although we mostly sit) to lose a few pounds.  Karla Telega over at Telega Tales & Tart Cookies featured me on her blog today.  I wasn’t offered a cookie though, maybe because of the whole diet thing.

Check out my post Diets, Derailments, and Dudes and check back on Sunday for a post from Karla.  Maybe she’ll bring cookies.

English: Half a dozen home-made cookies. Ingre...

I could easily mistake this for a reduced fat mozzarella stick wrapped in an iceberg wedge, right? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

The Spotlight’s On You! Vol 1:4

1 Comment

As part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things”, I promised to showcase a blog posting from one reader every week.  Here’s how YOU can be featured:

  • Subscribe to my blog
  • Follow @MamaBreadBaker on Twitter
  • Like Mama Bread Baker on Facebook
  • Leave a comment on any of my blog postings

Spotlight

The blog I chose for this week was posted by YourOtherMotherHere over at breastfedblog.  She thought my Adam & Eve post was funny.  Thanks for stopping by YourOtherMotherHere.

By YourOtherMotherHere:

Super Bowl Stats

“Hey honey, how’s that sandwich comin’? The game starts in 10 minutes!”  Click here to check out the rest of her post and the funny pictures to go along with it.

Who do YOU think will win the Super Bowl today?  Respond to the poll below.  My money’s on the 49′ers.  Literally.  Like a $150 bucks.

Have a great Sunday everyone!

Two Mornings…Two Men…Two Mississippi Murders

3 Comments

Join me for this walk.

Two mornings…two men…two murders.

Did hate motivate?

Highway 310 Blog seeks to find the answer to that question.

I had plans for 2013.  Adding a second blog wasn’t one of them.

I’ve heard other writers talk of how a story haunted them, but I’d never experienced that feeling as strongly as I did when the story of Johnny Lee Butts came across my desk.  For days, it was the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep and the first thing on my mind when I woke up.  Actually, it still is.

Although I enjoy the snarky and humorous style I employ here at Crumbsnatcher Tales, I didn’t feel it was the appropriate venue for the project I had in mind.

So that’s how the blog Highway 310-A Mississippi Murder was conceived.

walking_dist

This blog will have three main focuses:

  • Highlight and discuss the 2011 James Anderson case (Jackson, MS) and the 2012 Johnny Lee Butts case (Panola County, Mississippi)
  • Chronicle the first degree murder trial of Matthew Whitten Darby who will enter his plea on Feb 6th before the Honorable Judge McClure.  The trial is slated to begin on Feb 19th.
  • Highlight and discuss facts of other Panola County, Mississippi cases to determine if today’s law enforcement officials use their position as indiscriminately as officials past.

For Example:

2012- Judge Robert Chamberlain ruled that there was no probable cause to issue an arrest warrant for Batesville police officer Jamie Tedford, accused of threatening a 17-year-old black teenager over text messages sent to Tedford’s stepdaughter, 14.

(Source:  Davis, Billy. “Judge’s Ruling Clears Tedford of Threat Charge.” The Panolian March 12, 2010.)

1963- “Insufficient evidence…the reason for the acquittal of Panola County Sheriff Ross Darby…on charges of depriving a Negro of his right to a trial before inflicting summary punishment. U.S. District Court Judge Claude Clayton ordered the verdict on grounds the evidence was insufficient to prove willful intent in the striking of Lloyd Reed at a rural grocery store west of Pope last July 30.”

(Source: Associated Press. “School Integration Plan is Ordered.”  The Tuscaloosa News March 6, 1963.)

I’m not sure what tapestry this thread of blogs will weave, but until that pattern is fully laid out, I hope you will partner with me on this project.  What is required of you as a partner?

Simply one thing…subscribe and follow along with me as the stories of these two men unfold.  Oh, and feel free to dialogue there too!

In exchange, I will:

  • Bring to Highway 310 as much information as I can find about these two cases
  • Provide daily blog postings during Matthew Whitten Darby’s trial slated to begin February 19th. (Follow me on Twitter for tweets throughout the trial)
  • Respectfully seek to obtain interviews (when appropriate) and post those at Highway 310.

I’m calling upon my followers here, to follow along with me there, or pass this information along to someone else they feel may be interested.  I would welcome any mention that other bloggers might be willing to provide in support of this project.

****We now return to regularly scheduled programming.****

 

Adam & Eve – The First Argument

3 Comments

I don’t know why I’m a perfectionist.  Possibly because I’m the first-born? Maybe because I’m a woman? It could even be a DNA type thing—that obviously didn’t mutate to my teenage crumbsnatchers.  Whatever the reason, somewhere inside lives an evil voice that is never happy with anything I do.

I sometimes wonder if Eve was a perfectionist.  Do you think conversations like this could be overheard in the Garden of Eden?

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden

Chatting with God after dinner. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

*************************************************************

Adam (In from a hard day’s work):  Hey honey, I’m home!

Eve:  Don’t track your feet through the beach sand!  I spent all day combing it with palm leaves!

Adam (Scratching his head as he sets his briefcase down):  Are we having company?

Eve:  Adam!  I reminded you this morning before we rolled out of the lush green meadow that God was coming over for dinner tonight!

Adam:  Oh yeah.  I forgot.  That explains why you’re all stressed out.

Eve:  <through gritted teeth>  What did you say?  I’m—not—stressed.  I just want everything to be perfect when He gets here.

Adam:  We live in the Garden of Eden, honey.  I think that is the definition of perfection.  Well, except for that one apple that we can’t have.

Eve:  That’s right, Adam.  We do live in the Garden of Eden and who put us here?  Huh, huh?  Who gave us this?  Huh?

Adam:  There you go throwing that up in my face again.  You don’t think I work hard all day having dominion over all this stuff?  You don’t think that’s some pressure?  Just once I’d like to come home to a peaceful house.

Eve (crying):  sniff…sniff…It’s never enough for you.  I keep myself fit running with the cheetahs every day.  I take care of the meadow, sometimes hand-separating each flowing blade of grass.  I make sure you have fresh coconut milk waiting for you after work, and not once…well there was that time when I had a headache…do I deny you the pleasures of my body.

Adam:  Please don’t cry…you’re right honey.  I know, I know.  You are a perfect woman.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  God made me first.  I was just a test model and when He got the kinks all out, He made the beautiful, perfect woman who you are.

Eve:  Thank you for acknowledging that fact.  (Hugging Adam) And I guess it could be worse.  I could have to deal with a mother-in-law!

******************************************************

I’m sure that dinner party went well after Adam & Eve made up.  Until the next week when Eve made Apple Cobbler for desert.

I am Eve! (Not really, I’m Cheri.) I am Woman! (That parts true.)  And I make my own Garden of Eden where everything is perfectly imperfect.

© 2013 CThacker

Karma and Making Your Husband Pay

7 Comments

“Whooaaaa!  What was that?” the Eldest and Sweet Pea said in unison when my knee made a loud “POP” a few nights ago.

“Just my knee.”

Sweet Pea huffed, “Oh my gosh Mom!  Why don’t you go to bed and get off your knee?”

“Yeah,” agreed The Eldest.  “You know something always happens when Chief is out of town!”

I couldn’t argue.  It’s true.  Catastrophe befalls this household every time he leaves on business.  This time, however, the catastrophe was that I didn’t go with him.

But first, some back story.  January, 2011; I’d had two bunion surgeries in four months, subsequently spending a lot of time working from home with Chief.  One day, I interrupted his incessant pen-clicking with the statement, “Geez!  Isn’t it about time that you go out of town?”

I didn’t realize the strength of my own powers.  He was gone six of the next eight weeks.  I didn’t really want him gone that long.  I’ve since learned to harness the magic.

But in the witchcraft world—which I know nothing about—I imagine that the perpetual “good vs. evil” battle organically balances itself.  That would explain the backlash of my spell; something goes horribly wrong every time Chief travels.

  • The microwave blew up like a nuclear reactor plant.
  • The air conditioning blew during record-breaking heat.
  • Emergency trip to doggie hospital.
  • I blew my knee out.

So after listening to Chief brag about Alabama’s recent umpteenth National Championship—like there wasn’t a person on this planet who didn’t know Alabama would win—I used my “abilities” to send Chief on a quick business jaunt.

Within a few days, Chief got word he was going to California.  (There’s that whole organic balancing thing again.  Yes, I wanted him to go away but not to SUNNY CALIFORNIA in the middle of freaking winter!)

But this time, because I incessantly bugged him about it, Chief found a round-trip flight to California for $301.00 for me.  “We can probably swing that,” he said.  While Sweat Pea and I were out running errands, I was mentally packing my suitcase and working up my “elevator pitch” for a book I’m writing in case I ran into an agent.

Then I got a text.  “It’s going to be too hectic.  Next time.”

Jerk.

I’ve been looking for dishes for the last two years.  I know it seems irrelevant, but stick with me.  I hadn’t been able to find any that I liked…until that day.  Standing in Kroger.  Reading Chief’s text.

$306.00 later—Booyah!  I’ve got a new set of dishes, platters, serving bowls, and place mats.  How’s that for some organic balancing?

Aren't they cute?

Aren’t they cute?

But the Universe wasn’t done messing around with me.  During his trip, Chief texted that he was having drinks at the hotel bar where he just so happened to be chatting up an independent film producer and her husband.  Are you kidding me?

When he called me later that night to insist that Karma was once again on his side, I said.  “Not so fast buddy.  That could have been ME pitching my book idea to her which she would love and, in turn, make into an independent film that would win the Sundance Award!”

Silence.

“Betcha dinner off those new dishes will taste a little different now, huh?”

Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right, comment on this blog posting, like it on Facebook, or Follow @MamaBreadBaker on Twitter and you will be qualified for a chance to have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”

© 2013 CThacker

A Bean Counter is Never the Life of the Party – Unless They’ve Turned Humor Writer

3 Comments

I spent 20 years in the accounting field.  I was never expected to be the life of the party.  A bean counter never is.  If I occasionally zipped out a zinger that made people laugh, it was just a bonus.

English: Picture of Azuki Beans. The ones show...

Day in…day out…I counted these.  I was so boring. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But now that I’m a writer, and more specifically a humor columnist, I carry a special new responsibility.  I’m expected to be the life of the party; even if that expectation is only in my mind.  I just can’t seem to help myself.

We had dinner with another couple last night and my newfound responsibility got me in trouble.  The wife is a former co-worker of mine.  She caught me up on the office gossip that I could not have cared less about.

Which brings to mind the question, why do people say “I could care less”?  If you could care less, then wouldn’t that mean you have some measure of caring when you are trying to purvey the message that you really COULDN’T CARE LESS which is what you should have said in the first place?

Who’s on first?  I Don’t Know.  Then who’s on Third?  Who’s on first?

Abbott (right) and Costello, 1942

They just don’t make Sunday afternoon movies like they used to make.  Abbott (right) and Costello, 1942 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So back to dinner and how my newfound responsibility got me in trouble.  I felt an unbelievable pressure all evening to provide snappy one-liners.  I did a good job, too, which is surprising because another friend of mine–yes, I have more than one–was always the one that should have manned the 1-800-OH-NO-SHE-DI’UHNT Hotline.

I did it at Bunco the other night too, but since my Compadres for the evening could have been subscribers of the suburban paper that carries my humor column, I censored myself a little more.  Except for when we were in the garage and my filter completely disintegrated to the point that I called my son an asshole for a laugh.

It went like this:

Soccer Mom1:  Your husband is such a great soccer referee…our girls just love him.
Soccer Mom2:  Absolutely!  He’s much better than that other referee.

Soccer Mom5: (‘Cause Soccer Mom3 & Soccer Mom4 were huddled in the bathroom talking about the other 9 soccer moms and the sub they invited, being me) The one with the red hair?

Soccer Mom2: Yesh (’cause she was tipsy), that’s him!
Me: That’s my son.
Soccer Mom2: OMG! I’m so sorry.
Me: It’s okay. I know he’s an asshole.

<Everyone laughs, which was really the point.>

The Eldest didn’t think it was too funny when I told him about it later that night!  In retrospect, I can understand how he could actually care less about the situation, whereas I really couldn’t care less that he could care less.

Who’s on first?  I Don’t Know.  Then who’s on Third?  Who’s on first?

So back to dinner and how my newfound responsibility got me in trouble.  We laughed and laughed and talked about the dedication of my first published novel that is going to read, “To Denny.  If you hadn’t fired me, I wouldn’t be where I am now.  Thank you.  No, really.  See that picture on the back jacket?  That’s me! Thank you.”

Then Chief Money Maker said, “You got fired?  I thought you quit.”

“Kinda sorta both.  When I asked if I’d be eligible for rehire and he said ‘We’ll see after the two weeks’ I figured those two weeks of doing nothing I’d planned to do at the office could be more fun from the comfort of our sectional sofa so I just didn’t go back.”

Chief shot me a look.  I smiled and said, “But hey, I bet this would make a good blog.  Who wants a boring ole bean counter anyway?”

<Wink>

***Legal Disclaimer***

Any resemblance of Soccer Mom1,Soccer Mom2, Soccer Mom3, Soccer Mom4, and Soccer Mom5 to the actual Soccer Moms I based their representation upon is purely accidental because I’m not that great of a writer.

© 2012 CThacker

The Spotlight’s on You! Vol 1:2

2 Comments

As part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things”, I promised to showcase a blog posting from one of the previous week’s new subscribers, or someone who left a comment on my blog.  Subscribe to my blog, or stop back by and comment on new blog postings, and one of your blog posts could be featured next week!

Spotlight

The blog I chose for this week was posted by Cathy Cantu over at “5 Minutes for the Frazzled Mom.”   She dropped by and commented on a couple of my blog postings and is also a subscriber.

The post I chose caught my eye because Cathy can peg us women in a way I’ve yet to see anyone else come close.  Her post “Solving World Problems One Riblet Basket At a Time” pokes some fun at the differences between men and women when it comes to socializing.

By Cathy Cantu

“Studies show men talk to each other about four subjects: work, women, sports, and caulk….

If you just laughed, go on over and check out the rest of her post.

Thanks Cathy!

Bunco – The Divinely Appointed

9 Comments

Bunco Group Member – the coveted suburban title to which every soccer mom aspires.  In a lost scroll found, archaeologists learned that on the eighth day God created Bunco groups consisting of twelve women.  After these first divinely-appointed women, the only way into a Bunco group was/is by death.  It’s like Supreme Court Justice Appointments for Mini-van Moms.

I think this is the most absurd thing I can imagine.

And I hope someone dies soon so I can get an appointment to the group in which I’ve served as a sub the last two months.

It takes networking, politicking, and a current member with dangerously high cholesterol to get an appointment to a Bunco group.  You could always start your own, but it wouldn’t be recognized as “Original Lineage” by the Garden of Eden Bunco Association—whose motto is “Bringing you the gossip since Eve bit the Apple”—or Southern Baptists.

English: Stacked pink lady apples. Français : ...

Which must, by decree of Moses, be served at every Bunco meeting–with marshmallow dip! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And don’t get fooled by one of those impostor groups either.  If you get invited to a “BunKo” group, steer clear.  Every tried and true member of the society knows that it’s BunCo with a big fat “C” and it’s derived from the Latin words “bunimus cominus” which means, “Girrrrrrls, get your biscuit buns over to my house so I can tell you what that tramp down at blah blah blah blah.”

I subbed for a group for two years.  My own mother was a member.  I still couldn’t get an appointment.  One time, Old Miss Louise had a heart attack and my Mom immediately called to let me know it looked like a spot would open.  Then her call waiting beeped.

“Hold on and I’ll get rid of them,” she said.

While I waited, I planned the menu for the first night I’d host my new Bunco group.  I think Old Miss Louise had June.  The cinnamon tortilla chips and pumpkin dip would be refreshing.  Or maybe it was January.  Those would still work.  Pumpkin is holiday-ish.

I heard the familiar click that everyone in the Back to the Future Era knew meant the person was back on the line and my Mom said, “Are you still there?”

It was required when you click back from call waiting to ask that question.

I said, “Yeah.”

“False alarm.  Old Miss Louise just had gas from eating down at the Horseshoe Corral.”

And that’s the closest I’ve come so far to getting in.

The last two months, I’ve subbed for another Bunco group.  I’d like to say that these ladies are lovely; that they are some of the classiest women in the area.  I’d like to, but these are some kind of craaaazzzy ladies.

And exactly the kind of Bunco group I want to join!

I’ve got my target locked and loaded and now all I have to do is sit back and wait for someone to die, or transfer.  But even transfers can get tricky.  I understand waiting lists are long, and many a man wears on his back the footprints of corporate ladder-climbers all because their wife refused to move for his promotion until a suitable Bunco group could be secured.

It’s that kind of serious!

Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right, or comment on this blog posting, and you will be qualified for a chance to have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”

© 2013 CThacker

Headline: Week Ending 1/11/12 – Mama Bread Baker Suspected of Housing a Lion

5 Comments

The writing prompt for the day challenged:

Write a supermarket tabloid article.  Make it as unbelievable as possible.

So I wrote this:

Kinda Associated Press:

Sources close to Mama Bread Baker, who wish to remain unnamed for fear of being eaten alive, recently revealed that life for the crumbsnatchers isn’t quite the way it’s portrayed in her nationally syndicated column and blog read by tens of subscribers. 

The source claims that Mama Bread Baker is currently under surveillance by the police department on suspicion of murder.  Regular readers of her column will note that The Nephew disappeared from the blog this summer and has not been heard from since.  

Bartlett Police Chief refused to comment on whether the surveillance claims are true or not.  “It’s the policy of this department not to confirm or deny questions of this nature.  I suggest you talk to your local meat wholesaler, though, and ask about the increased sales in the quantity of ground lamb, goat, and zebra.”

 “They only person I’ve murdered is Haley’s ex-husband, Richard.”  She goes on to claim that she’s speaking of characters in her novel. 

The windows to the garage at 1234 Thacker Lane are covered with black plastic that Mama alleges blocks the sun’s rays from heating the garage.  “With so many kids in our family we have to take  measures to cut expenses.  We did get a new cat, but trust me; there isn’t a lion  in our garage. ”

For a household with so many residents, it was eerily quiet with no other family meandering the residence during our interview.  A steak sat on the counter marinating with an empty bottle of Dale’s fajita sauce by its side.  “That’s for Chief’s dinner,” Mama explained.

Child Services has been notified and Director Elemenopee announced that she plans to conduct a surprise visit to the home on Thacker Lance sometime next week (on Wednesday) sometime between the hours of noon and five (at 3:15 p.m.)  “If there’s a lion in that house, we’ll find it.  And I’m so excited to have the opportunity to get her autograph.  I love her column and blog!”

Bartlett Police Department is requesting that anyone with information on the whereabouts of The Nephew contact them at 787-7677 or STP-RMRS.   The officers assigned would love to go home just in case there is a lion in the garage.

And I thought it was pretty ridiculous.  

And then I read this headline on Yahoo:

Dog shaved to look like lion prompts 911 call

I forgot that people are stupid.  

Like him on Facebook

Charles the Monarch – Like him on Facebook

http://www.facebook.com/CharlestheMonarch

© 2012 CThacker

An Asterisk to Dave Barry’s Colonoscopy Essay

11 Comments

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, only this time while sober.  I want to be Dave Barry—without the man parts.  As a new writer, I kept hearing over and over in my head the mantra “write what you know.”  Actually, it was Chief repeating it over and over in my ear because he was tired of the sight of me in front of my computer wearing only a bathrobe and a blank stare.  I looked around at the fodder my family provided.  Bingo!  I’d write about them.

I posted my first piece and everyone praised my humor skills.  It was a serious piece, and since I didn’t purvey that tone, I decided it might be better if I hone in on the funny.

So I went to the library and came across Miami Herald’s humor columnist Dave Barry’s books.  I checked a few out and curled up in bed that night to read.  The man is exceptionally gifted, or really warped, or has access to some really good hallucinogenic drugs, and I couldn’t stop laughing.  Suddenly, I recalled I’d read his colonoscopy essay and I knew this man would now, and forever be, my humor idol because anyone that can turn that experience into a laugh is worthy of worship.

Basically I’m saying I blame Dave Barry for my humor writing career.

English: Dave Barry Русский: Дэйв Барри

Doesn’t he just LOOK like he’d be funny?  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last week, on the eve of my second colonoscopy, I treated myself to another read of Dave’s colonoscopy essay right before I downed my own MoviPrep concoction—a nuclear laxative as Dave describes—mixed  with margarita flavored Crystal Light.

Sipping margaritas on the patio of El Patron will never be the same since I ruined the happening by associating an intoxicating experience with the toxic tribulation trial of MoviPrep.  I swear I passed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I ate in third grade and next Thursday’s dinner menu which hasn’t yet been consumed.

English: A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, m...

It may or may not have been in this form.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two hours later, as I sat leaning forward as far as possible on the porcelain portal, I realized Dave’s experience wasn’t exactly the same as mine. Dave has a handy-dandy picnic gadget—I assume but I haven’t fact-checked the information—to use for other elimination functions not involving MoviPrep.

For a female going Number #1, when your delicate nether region has been awakened like a snoozing volcano,  is like pouring gasoline on top of lighter fluid on top of a raging forest fire.

According to Chief, the sounds that came from the bathroom sounded like a wild animal trapped in a raging forest fire while someone poured gasoline on top of lighter fluid on top of the fire.

Maybe I’ll rethink those man parts after all.

So here’s Mama Bread Baker’s public service announcement for 2013.  If you’re over 50 (which I’m not in number but apparently I am in “colon-age”) get your screening.  It can save your life.

© 2013 CThacker

Lucky 13 Here I Come

10 Comments

It’s 2013 and I’m excited about the potential!  I saw my blog grow in 2012, got Freshly Pressed, and made some great new friends.

Call it a resolution, theme, goal, or whatever gives you the warm-and-fuzzies, but I’ve decided that:

2013 Means Bigger Better Things!

Happy new year

Happy new year (Photo credit: Amodiovalerio Verde)

I thank my loyal readers, supporters, friends and family for taking this journey along with me.  I’ve come a long way since that first post. I’m excited–but probably not as excited as Tim Tebow was to join the Jets–about upcoming changes to my blog this year.

If you are new to my blog, thank you for stopping by.  I’m just a simple storyteller telling the story of a family one talking dog away from a sitcom, irreverently speaking of my husband and children, and raising teenagers as I wonder daily…If I’d drowned them at birth, would I be out of prison by now?

So what Bigger Better Things can you expect in 2013?  You can expect a weekly dose of the giggles delivered fresh off the fingertips and straight to your email.

You can also look forward to these new features:

  • Crumbsnatcher cartoon
  • Mama Bread Baker Answers Reader Mail (send your questions now to MamaBreadBaker at comcast dot net.  Relationship advice, parenting advice, tax advice if you are looking to be audited, etc)
  • Top 10 Lists
  • Video Blog

But wait….there’s more!  I want YOU to be a part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things!”

I want to reward my followers, so look forward to these opportunities for me to extend my thanks to you:

  • Promotional give-aways
  • Mama Bread Baker’s Favorite Blog of the Week (I’ll be checking the blogs of everyone who leaves a comment, as well as those of new subscribers.  Every Sunday I will post my favorite blog posting from the week.  Will it be yours?)

So we’re off and running for the new year.  Come back tomorrow to hear how my year got off to a crappy start…literally.

Tomorrow’s Blog

An Asterisk to Dave Barry’s Colonoscopy Essay

Time Didn’t End, but Time IS Winding Down….

Leave a comment

Time Didn’t End, but Time IS Winding Down….

for those last minute shoppers that thought the world was going to end yesterday, so they waited until today to do their shopping.  I went shopping in the mob of End of the Worlders.  Not because I thought the world was going to end and it didn’t…but because I hadn’t purchased Chief Money Maker one single gift and I was tired of watching him pout beside the Christmas tree!

Merry Christmas to You and Yours and please enjoy this reblog from the Blogging Ghost of Christmas Past.

How To Beat The Holiday Stress

Have you ever felt so much stress that you had two thoughts collide in your mind and then spill out of your mouth causing you to sputter something totally ridiculous?  Last week I told Chief Money Maker, “Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and cook G-Bear after basketball practice.”  He gave me a puzzled look and asked if I would like him to boil Wolfy as a side dish.  Read more…

The Nativity

Light a Candle for Newtown

3 Comments
candle

Light a candle for Newtown (Photo credit: jamingray)

I recently complained that the crumb snatchers have reached the age where they aren’t fun to buy Christmas for anymore. You know how teenagers are—I need the latest, greatest. Which, for our household, means that’s about all you get. But after Friday, I’m thankful that I still have them to buy for.

I recently complained that the crumb snatchers keep dragging all their friends over to mess up my nice clean floors and eat up all our groceries. Really…ALL of them. But after Friday, I’m thankful that the crumb snatchers still have their friends.

Chief Money Maker just complained when he cosigned a note for a 2006 Honda Accord for Sweet Pea because she batted her eyes and he just couldn’t say no. But after Friday, he’s thankful he had the experience of helping a child fulfill their dream of purchasing their first car.

I just complained that my health insurance is making me go through hoops to get tests that I need. But after Friday, I’m thankful I’m not arguing with a life insurance company.

I always complain that Jumper barks at the elementary school children waiting for the bus in the morning. But after Friday, I patted his head and waved to the children as they walked by.

I almost complained that Chief Money Maker is working when he is supposed to be on vacation…and then I remembered Friday.

In loving memory of:

Names and ages of the Newtown shooting victims:

Charlotte Bacon, 6

Daniel Barden, 7

Rachel Davino, 29

Olivia Engel, 6

Josephine Gay, 7

Ana Marquez-Greene, 6

Dylan Hockley, 6

Dawn Hochsprung, 47

Madeleine Hsu, 6

Catherine Hubbard, 6

Chase Kowalski, 7

Jesse Lewis, 6

James Mattioli, 6

Grace McDonnell, 7

Anne Marie Murphy, 52

Emilie Parker, 6

Jack Pinto, 6

Noah Pozner, 6

Caroline Previdi, 6

Jessica Rekos, 6

Avielle Richman, 6

Lauren Rousseau, 30

Mary Sherlach, 56

Victoria Soto, 27

Benjamin Wheeler, 6

Allison Wyatt, 6

Source: Connecticut State Police

© 2012 CThacker

As the World Ends

4 Comments

Wikipedia dubbed the date’s descriptive marker as the “2012 Phenomenon” but I can guarantee that those Wiki guys wouldn’t know a phenomenon if it walked up and talked in that Allstate insurance guy’s voice.

“You’re in good hands with Allstate.”

American actor Dennis Haysbert

You totally just read that line in his voice, admit it! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Big deal if the Mayan calendar abruptly ends on December 21, 2012 and the Mayans can’t flip the page to a snow covered Mesoamerican January view?  I’ve got stronger phenomenal proof the world is ending.

None of the crumb snatchers have Christmas lists.

This holiday hitch has me completely dumbfounded.  I have no idea what to do with the time I normally spend scurrying from trunk vendor to trunk vendor seeking economic relief on the latest and greatest requests—otherwise known as “ridiculously priced” items—from the crumb snatchers wish lists.  Could this be the year they’ve all at once realized it’s better to give than to receive?

Sometimes I crack myself up with the questions I ask.

With all the extra time on my hands, I began preparing for the end of the world—just in case.  I spent three weeks deep-cleaning, organizing, and uncluttering our home.  I’m sure that seems a little odd considering most people probably scheduled their holiday cleaning help to come on December 22nd.  No point in paying for something you might not get to use, right?  Right.

I’m a teensy-weensy bit obsessive-compulsive about my cleaning.  I just wouldn’t feel right leaving this world with a dirty house.  Someone pat me on the back for my courteous consideration of the aliens, zombies, or Kardashians that plan to take over the world on December 21st.

Plus, the new medication Doctor Do Very Little, M.D. gave me for my menopause symptoms turned me into a freak cleaning machine.  I stopped taking the pills so I could slip them into the crumb snatchers dinner plates.  Why should I do the work if I can turn them into freak cleaning machines?

It’s a good thing I did too, because The Colonel and Mrs. Colonel—my in-laws—are coming for a visit.  Now I can stop worrying that a dust bunny might hop out from behind the TV and kidnap them for ransom.  Grandma and Uncle Kablong—my mother and brother—are coming for a visit this month too.  Which leads me to the additional proof the world is ending; Grandma said she was looking forward to the visit.

Speaking of phenomenal, the crumb snatchers pulled a fast one on Chief Money Maker on Thanksgiving Day.  As a result, he will dress as Santa to deliver gifts to a family at St. Jude’s this year.  Not to be out-witted by the witless, he managed to coral some elves to assist.

While I was busy laughing at the mess each one had gotten themselves into, they all turned to me and said:

“What’s so funny?  YOU have to make everyone’s costume!”

Elf Costume 001

At least seeing the male crumb snatchers in red tights should be fun! (Photo credit: roger_mommaerts)

Any chance the world might end before December 21st?

© 2012 CThacker

Are You There God? It’s Me–Mama Bread Baker!

2 Comments

Are you there God?  It’s me—Mama Bread Baker—and I’ve got some questions for you. 

Question the Moment - Which Famous Person Do Y...

I’m a woman of faith.  I don’t do “religion.”  I opt for “relationship” in my spiritual life, so I talk to God.  And now I talk to our cat.  Which I think God sent because He was tired of me constantly bugging Him when He has more important things to do like (hopefully) help director Peter Jackson get “The Hobbit” right.

So being a woman with a genetic DNA strain that causes me to perpetually draft lists—sometimes in Excel workbooks so they can be color-coded, sorted, and hidden when I don’t want to do/see/purchase whatever is on the list—I’ve started compiling a list of questions to ask God when I reach the hereafter.

1)       Why do we call it “the hereafter?”  Is it going to be here? ‘Cause I’m really hoping it’s there even though Chief Money Maker wants it here so he can get more use out of the swimming pool he put in last summer.  Just between You and me, I say if Chief thinks he’s going to need the swimming pool to cool off in the hereafter, he’s headed in a different direction than I.

2)      Seriously…there’s a human soul inside my cat, right?  I’ve never owned a cat until this summer when I figured out that no one has ever owned a cat.  (If a cat has ever moved into your home, then there is no explanation needed for my desire to have an answer to this question.)

3)       Menopause was the REAL punishment for Eve’s apple pie making disobedience, right?   What’s that God?  What do I think is the answer?  Well, obviously it’s menopause since the symptoms can last for years and the partner of ANY woman going through menopause also suffers through picking tiny shards of shattered kitchen dishes from their forehead for saying, “Good morning, Honey.  Is coffee ready?”  What’s that?  Oh……the tiny shards of glass thing only happened to Chief?  My bad.

4)       Why did You make teenagers hungry all the time?  I promise I’m not questioning Your infinite wisdom and awesomeness, but couldn’t You have designed that portion of the life cycle to occur at a less financially pressing time?  Instead of when we have to purchase athletic equipment, prom dresses, class rings, yearbooks, graduation invitations, etc.?  Maybe like when they move out and have to buy their OWN groceries?

5)      If you gifted me with creative talent, an awesome sense of humor, and a witty way with words, why wouldn’t you send an agent or publisher to discover me, offering up a fabulous book deal so I can flaunt it before those mean girls from high school that read my column and say things like “isn’t that soooooo cute”?  Yes, I realize I’m being whiney and ungrateful, but I picked the habit up from the crumb snatchers!

I’m sure I’ll add more to my list before I permanently log out of Lifebook, so feel free to ask your questions in the comment section and I’ll tack them on.  Meanwhile…I’ll just chat with the cat.

© 2012 CThacker