“Quick! Get Clark and Hold Him Over the Toilet!”

When I was growing up, we always had lots of kitties living with us.  There was Taffy May and Buzzel and Merv — but the kitty that stands out the most in my mind is Clark.

Clark was the kitty my mother got my brothers and I to help ease the pain of the divorce.  We moved to a new town after that and took Clark with us.

Unfortunately, the only way we could have Clark in our new place was if we agreed to have him de-clawed.

For some reason, in 1965, landlords thought that one little kitty could destroy an entire property.

Thinking back,  it was a horrible thing to do to our beloved Clark, and I hope it is a practice that has long since been  abandoned.  For you see, Clark was never quite right in the head after that.

Clark had a chip on his shoulder and he liked to take it out on  bare legs. God help you if you walked by him in shorts, he would attack by jumping on your legs and sliding slowly down them like he was a fireman.

Clark also had a weak stomach.  Every couple of days or so, he would meow in a certain way just before loosing his lunch.  When we finally caught on to this idiosyncrasy of his and when we heard “the call” my mother would always yell for one of us to get Clark and hold him over the toilet.

This became a pretty regular routine.  One day my brothers got the genius  idea to impersonate Clark’s up-chuck distress call.

This proved to be great fun especially when our friends were over.  If things started getting dull or the conversation would lull, somebody would impersonate Clark’s up-chuck distress call and without missing a beat my mother would yell from the other room,  “Quick somebody get Clark and hold him over the toilet!”

At this point in time, we also had very old furniture and our couch had holes in it.  My mother was always sewing them up to prevent someone from falling through.

One day my mother couldn’t find her reading glasses and surmised that they must have fallen off while she was sewing up the couch.

So here we all were — a room full of teenagers — watching TV.  In walks my mother with a pair of scissors and asks one of the boys to scoot over a little, he complies whereupon my mother cuts a hole in the couch, reaches in, pulls out her reading glasses, puts them on and leaves the room without saying a word.

Five minutes later someone gave the, by now, infamous up-chuck distress call to which my wonderful mother responded in true Pavlovian fashion by yelling from the other room,

“Quick, somebody get Clark and hold him over the toilet! “

Ah! Those were the days!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Taffy May Incident

My Brain Peanuts Breaks Glasses Causing Immediate Nerd Transformation!

I broke my glasses because my brain, Peanuts, placed them directly underneath where my foot was supposed to go.

Peanuts and I have been wearing glasses now for 20 years due to adult onset blurriness, and you’d think my brain, Peanuts, would have figured out a way to not step on them.

But no, every once in a while Peanuts has to test me to see if I’m still paying attention (and I never am).

I don’t get it because there’s nothing Peanuts and I hate doing more than having to get new glasses.  What was Peanuts thinking?

So I got my husband, 37, to tape them back together for me, because he’s an engineer so he knows about things like that.

Except that I didnt trust his taping judgment once he was done and added more tape myself.

So now I’m officially a nerd.

I’d take a picture to show you but I think it might be too early in the morning for that. Oh what the heck, let’s live dangerously shall we?

Me in my new nerdy glasses:

Well, wait a minute . . . let me see if I can take the picture from a better angle:

Oh that’s better.  I like this of me in my nerdy glasses a little better because you can’t really see the tape all that much.

Anyway, what were we talking about?  Oh yeah, the careless behavior of my brain, Peanuts.

So now Peanuts and I will have to stumble down to the glasses store and get those nasty drops put in.  Then once we are legally blind, we will be guided out front to pick out frames from the two or three thousand styles displayed right in front of our eyes somewhere.

The conversation with the professional four-eyes care specialist will go something like this:

Me:  How do these look on me?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Me:  Really?  Well how about these?

Her:  Oh!!! Those look good on you!

Me.  Really?  What about these?

Her:  Oh those!!! Look good on you.

Me:  How about these?

Her:  Oh those, look!!!  Good on you!!

Me:  And these?

Her:  Oh those look good!!! On you!!

Me:   Oh but what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on!!!  You!!!!!

Me:  Oh, yeah, what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Of course, we all know how this story ends.  Peanuts and I will finally decide on frames, then go back to pick them up three weeks later because their motto is ready in about an hour give or take three weeks.

Me:  Are you sure these are my glasses because they look horrible and I can’t see a thing.

Her:  OH!!! THOSE!!! LOOK!!! GOOD!!! ON!!! YOU!!!

Then Peanuts and I will go home and while I’m crying my eyes out, Peanuts will be eating a 1000 grams of sugar.

Until next time . . . I love you

If You Find a Bag of Adjectives, They’re Pottery Barn’s

Oh Happy Day!  Joy of Joys!  A new Pottery Barn Catalog!  Let’s flip through some pages together, shall we?

Hey!  Lookie!   This Pottery Barn Sectional is made entirely out of Sustainable Seagrass!

So apparently there’s a big ol’ lawn on the bottom of the ocean that Pottery Barn mows to get seagrass clippings so they can make couches out of it.  Who knew?

Of course, PB is sure to tell us that the seagrass is SUSTAINABLE.  In fact, upon closer inspection, the only adjective used in this month’s Pottery Barn catalog seems to be the word  “sustainable”.  I have no idea why this is — but I’m happy to make something up.   

Once upon a time last week, a careless Pottery Barn catalog-writer temp forgot to lock the safe where Pottery Barn keeps all its “power-selling adjectives” And somebody stole them all! 

Except for the word “SUSTAINABLE” which, luckily, the Pottery Barn Catalog Editor takes home with him each night to safely stow under his pillow for safekeeping because “SUSTAINABLE” is their single, most-important, show-me-the-money adjective EVER!

And if somebody were to steal that one, Pottery Barn would go bust in nothing flat!

In fact, PB would probably not argue with the assertion that the only difference between them and The Dollar Store  is PB’s genius for inserting their prize adjective “sustainable” 17 times on every single page.

Anyway, getting back to the sustainable seagrass that PB likes to make couches out of.

This might be a good time to point out that keeping the lawn on the bottom of the sea  sustainable is no small feat.  In fact, it’s a waterloggingly, back-breakingly, eyeburningly difficult task if ever there was one.

Pottery Barn goes down deep to get to the bottom to stay on top!

First of all:

To keep the seagrass growing nicely, Pottery Barn Scuba Divers have to dive way down deep to lay an underground sprinkling system on the ocean floor lawn and then swim clear back up to the surface to turn the faucet on and then swim clear back down to the bottom again to make sure all the zones are being watered properly.

Next thing you know,  Pottery Barn has divers dropping left and right from the bends, and they have yet to even fire up the underwater lawnmower!

Just thinking about it makes Pottery Barn tired, crabby and somewhat explosive.

Second of all:

Add to that, all the labor involved in the upkeep of the underwater barbed-wire fences to keep the seagrass safe from the hungry mouths of seasheep, and Pottery Barn is hard pressed to make its usual 5,000 percent profit margin and may have to suffice with only a 4,998 percent profit margin.  (Plus the small loss of some of the actual divers themselves — mostly just the small ones.)

The bottom line is there is absolutely nothing Pottery Barn won’t do to bring you beautiful decorating people!  NOTHING!

And please be of good cheer, everyone, for we still have 166 more  pages of our beloved Pottery Barn Catalog to peruse together . . . and if that doesn’t bring you in off the ledge, I don’t know what will.

Until next time . . . I love you