Saturday, December 31, 2016

Ignoring My Horoscope

Ignoring My Horoscope

I was sitting reading the newspaper and had just gotten to the page that gives horoscopes.  It said, “Don’t lift anything heavy, you will hurt your back”.

Now usually, the advice in a horoscope is rather vague.  This was very specific, and while I am not a believer, its directness struck me as being good advice to follow.  

I was contemplating this advice, when Barbara came into the room and announced her agenda for the day.

It seemed that we were “scheduled” to go to Home Depot and get several bags of mulch for our front yard.

After contemplating pretending to be deaf, I instead decided to be honest and show Barbara the critical advice I had just received.

“I cannot do this today,” I replied, “my horoscope says I shouldn’t lift anything”.

“That’s just your interpretation of what it says,” she said. “You’re always twisting what it says to favor what you want or don’t want to do.”

“No, no,” I pleaded my case, “just look at it”.

Barbara ignored me

“Really, it’s very specific this time, not open to interpretation. It must be a message from the Gods.  How can we ignore this message?”

She looked at the horoscope.

“This is just like the prescription from Dr. Marks that said “No Ragu”, or the prescription from the oncologist’s office that said “no painting for cancer patients because they are sensitive to paint fumes.”   I don’t care what your horoscope says, we’re getting the mulch!”, she said adamantly.

I kept protesting, arguing about the specificity of the prediction.  Barbara was not to be moved.

We had to go out that morning to do some errands and Barbara insisted on stopping for mulch.  We wound up with seven bags which we then spread around the front garden.

“See,” Barbara said, “you didn’t hurt your back, did you?”

I seriously considered groaning and faking a severe backache, but decided telling people about Barbara’s blatant disregard for my well being was funnier. I await your sympathy.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

The Whip Cream Incident

The Whip Cream Incident

As many of you know, I am a friendly guy who likes to talk with people.  I always consider this to be a positive attribute.  Barbara doesn't always agree with my assessment of my better qualities.

The other night we found ourselves at Publix Supermarket near our home. 

I had baked a new recipe for a Cannoli Cheese Cake, which I was going to bring to a BBQ swim party at the beach.  The recipe called for covering the top of the cake with whip cream and chocolate chip morsels as a finishing touch.  Since I couldn’t make my own whip cream at the beach, I thought it prudent to buy a can of Whip Cream to take with me.

We both entered the store and I proceeded to the back of the store to get the can of whip cream.  We then approached the cashier with it.

The cashier, a woman of about 45-50 asked. “anything else?”

“No,” I said, “that’s all she asked me to get.  She’s a little Kinky”, I replied innocently.

The cashier was taken aback for a second, seeming to process what I had said.  She started to smile, then giggle, then laugh.  The bag boy, a young man in his late teens, also grinned and giggled.  Barbara turned bright red.

“He baked a cake!” she almost shouted.

“I did bake a cake,” I said. “But that’s only one use for the whip cream”.

The cashier kept looking between Barbara and I, and giggling.  Barbara continued to turn even redder.

The young female manager came over to see what the laughing was all about.  The cashier related what had just been said, causing the manager to laugh along with the cashier and bag boy.  Barbara kept getting redder.

“I’ll bet this is the most fun you’ve had with a customer today, isn’t it?” Barbara asked the cashier.

“I have to say. its the most fun I’ve had in a long while with a customer.  You guys are such fun,” the cashier replied.

“It’s for a cake,” Barbara kept insisting while continuing to blush furiously.

The cashier turned to me and said, “she’s gong to kill you when you get home”.

I laughed and said,“ I have the car keys.

“Well then, she’s going to kill you in the parking lot” the cashier said grinning at me.

“Probably” I said laughing.  Barbara who was still red started to laugh also.

We continued laughing as we exited the store and laughed about it for the rest of the night.

It’s a good thing Barbara has a sense of humor, or I WOULD BE dead.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

When Is An Offer Not An Offer?

When Is An Offer Not An Offer?

When someone offers you something and you accept their offer, shouldn’t you receive what was offered?

I think so.  Barbara doesn’t, at least in my case.  Let me give you an example.

We often have people over to our house.  

Invariably Barbara will come into the room where we are congregating and say:  “Does anyone want anything, a drink, ice cream, anything?”  

Now if I want something, I answer yes or raise my hand in acknowledgement of her offer.  If no-one else has answered I am usually ignored.  

“Anyone else, anyone?” she will continue to ask in the hope that I am not the only one answering.  If I am the only one answering, the offer is withdrawn.

By her asking, isn’t there an implied contract between asker and askee?  I think so.

Barbara’s explanation of why I get ignored is:  But you’ll say yes to everything.  It’s not worth it to just get you.

Our friends have noticed her tendency to ignore me under those circumstances and our children and now our grandchildren have taken notice.  It is a family joke that I will get ignored, and they just laugh and roll their eyes at the “folie a deux” that takes place.  It is an almost automatic reaction between us.

My hope is that people will come to the realization that I deserve the “medal” they are always awarding to Barbara for “putting up” with me.  I am the one with the “reputation” of always being “difficult” to live with.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I am an angel.

I am easy going, friendly (Barbara says too friendly) and just a wonderful person to live with.  Why people see me as the “difficult to live with one” I’ll never know.

Recently, Barbara and I were sitting watching TV.  She was drinking lemonade.  She turned to me and said, “Would you like some lemonade ( an offer)?”

To which I replied, “Why thank you (acceptance of the offer).

Barbara offered me her cup, which happens to be plastic and you cannot see what it contains without looking directly into it.  I took the cup appreciating her generosity in sharing her lemonade with me.  Unfortunately, it was empty. “Guess you’ll just have to get us some” she said, smiling sweetly.

I started to laugh, and so did she.

She eventually got me some lemonade, probably because she realized how funny it all sounded.

It became a source of some amusement between us for the rest of the day.

Now of course, Barbara says she was just kidding and was going to get me lemonade all along. 

You and I know the truth.

Friday, February 19, 2016

When Good News Is Not Well Received

Let me start by saying this will probably be my fault.  I’m not sure why I’m at fault, but it is safer to take that responsibility than not.

Second, for those not aware (there may be one or two people on the planet), I am a dessert person.  I would gladly forego a main course for dessert any time.  

This all started with our upcoming blood test.  

Both Barbara and I were scheduled to get fasting blood tests to check on our cholesterol and triglycerides.  

There have been times when my numbers have been high, but that was due to special circumstances, such as my doing investigative pie eating when I was going to be a pie judge, and when Barbara moved the three bags of hershey bars into the kitchen refrigerator from the one in the garage.

This time, we hadn’t done anything special.  

I still cooked, following the ancient adage passed down to me by the food network: that everything goes better with lots of butter, and keep cookies, cakes, ice cream and gelato in the house.

As the time for our blood tests got closer, Barbara was convinced I was going to get a bad report based on my diet.  She was expecting me to get a tongue lashing from the doctor.  She was looking forward to it, and saw it as a vindication of her saying: we should cut down on desserts.  Although this never stops her from eating the desserts, as those who have had dinner with us will attest to.

We took the blood tests and awaited the results.

Meanwhile friends of ours from New York were staying with us.

Two days later, my phone rang.  It was the doctor’s office.  They had my results.

“Your numbers are good”, the lady from the doctor’s office said.

“I expect nothing less”, I answered.  “What were the numbers?”

She gave me the numbers.

“Great,” I said, “my wife is going to be really mad they are good”.

“Probably,” the lady said. “She’d be right to feel that way.”

I asked for my wife’s results, but the doctor hadn’t reviewed them yet, so they couldn’t be released.

I hung up the phone, and told my friends, who were eating breakfast, what the results were.  Barbara was still in the shower.

“Barbara is going to be pissed,” I stated.

“No she’s not,” our friend said, looking dubiously at me.

“Just wait,” I answered.

We continued eating breakfast waiting for Barbara to come in.

Barbara finally came into the kitchen.

“Who was on the phone?” Barbara asked.

“The doctor, I got my test results, yours weren’t ready,” I replied.

“So what were your numbers?” Barbara asked with a smile on her face.

I told her.

“Son of a …, how could that be?” she said with a frown.  “That can’t be right, are you lying?”

I assured her I was being truthful and turned to our friends for confirmation of what I said.

Our friends were looking askance at Barbara.  

Barbara has the reputation of being the better one of us.  Her disappointment in my good news was in direct conflict with her image.  I was glad they were witnesses.

“This isn’t right. You eat so much dessert, how could your numbers be good?  You just wait, my numbers will be high, and we eat the same things.  Its just not fair!”

I saw where this was going, I would be to blame if her numbers were high.  I would have to shoulder the blame, a burden I was prepared to accept.

In the meantime, put some rum raisin ice cream on that slice of tiramisu.