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PLUNK GENEALOGY -- see "Family" label on this blog and/or write Mike at mdplunk@hotmail.com

Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Taste of DeSoto And A Little Poodle. Really?



















When Mike and I had been married (the first time) only a few months, he came home one day with a small, black, curly, ball of fur -- a poodle puppy. We named him Plunk's Pepper Pot and he grew into a good companion and, fortunately, a very un-poodle poodle.

Ab0ut a year later, during the Christmas season, Mike and I left the house one evening to go to a party. Pepper decided to have his own party.


When we left, there was a two-pound box of chocolates --with lid firmly secured -- on an end table. The first thing we noticed upon returning, was the box on the floor, lid off -- candy scattered about, but mostly missing. It appeared that some of the candy papers must be missing as well. I went to the kitchen looking for Pepper and discovered that his water bowl was completely empty. Then we found Pepper. He was sitting on his butt like a little person, leaning back into a corner and being held up by the convergence of those two walls. His little belly was fully distended and he looked miserable. I don't know that we actually heard him groan, but if he'd known how, that's what he would have been doing.


The little fool had decided to have some candy and had consumed most of the box's contents, papers included. He was miserable for the night, but recovered nicely.


And that's how I felt last night after Mike and I deliciously sampled our way through the Taste of DeSoto. Over-eating is fun, but I need to stop short of imitating Pepper Pot.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

A Really True Story

The Really True Story of The Beauty Hill Cat Fiasco by Joe Holland, re-posted from the McNairy County History & Genealogysite group on Facebook.


It was in the mid-1940s, the summer that I turned eight years old and we were living in Southwest Tennessee. Dad had been in the Detroit, Michigan area for about a month when we found out that he was going to be there a few weeks longer.



While Dad was away on his preaching trips, Mother watched over us kids and ran our home like a German prisoner of war camp. Betty Ruth {my sister} and I were delegated specific chores that we were responsible for while Dad was away.



Betty had to wash the dishes, make the beds, gather eggs and help Mother churn the milk when we needed butter.Some of my chores was to feed and milk ‘Ole Bossy’ twice a day, chop stove wood and do what ever else Mother could come up with and she sure could come up with some doozeys. Some days Mother would send me to Mr. Deaton’s store at Bethel Springs with fresh butter and eggs to trade for coffee, sugar, etc. Mother could really barter. Oh well, let me get to “The Beauty Hill Cat Fiasco.”






The sunny day started out just great for me, except for a few of the following unexpected events.
Ole’ Bossy kept switching her tail across my face while I was milking. When I punched her side, she kicked the milk bucket. I caught the bucket, set it down and continued with the milking. I figured out that Ol’ Bossy needed an attitude adjustment so as I was delivering a couple of extra good side punches with my fists, Ol’ Bossy placed her right hoof firmly in the full milk bucket. When her hoof finally came out of that milking bucket, I strained the milk and took it into the house. Some things you should never tell your Mother



That morning Betty Ruth was gathering the eggs as usual, BUT she suddenly started screaming. Mother sent me to the chicken house to check out what the commotion was all about.
A snake had got into one of the hen nests and swallowed an egg, then the snake went thru the wire to the next nest and swallowed another egg.The snake had started thru the wire to another nest but the egg from the first nest and the egg in the second nest kept the snake from going forward or backward.



Betty Ruth had stuck her hand up into the nest to get the first egg but the egg that she was clutching was inside that snake. She was still screaming and holding on to that egg that was still in the snake when I got there. I could not control my laughter. Finally, after getting her to turn loose, I killed the snake and we took the eggs to the house.When we both got back inside the house, Betty Ruth checked and cleaned up the eggs while I filled up both churns with cream.






Mother sent me back outside to chop stove wood and, while Betty Ruth was churning the cream, Mother got out the two butter press molds to form and shape the butter.I had just come inside the kitchen with my arms full of stove wood when IT HAPPENED. A Day Burned Into My Memory Forever






Mother was laying out waxed paper and the press molds for the butter on the kitchen table. Betty Ruth had just finished churning and was standing by the stove. “Sleepy,” the calico cat, was asleep on the inside windowsill when I stepped inside the kitchen with my arms around the stove wood.I honestly did not know that “Moreover,” my dog, had followed me into the kitchen on that fateful day.Sleepy, the cat, hissed, bowed up ad started running. Betty Ruth, my sister, screamed and screamed.






Sista Freida, my mother, yelled “Git that dawg outta this here kitchen rite now!”






Moreover, my dog, barked and took off after the cat. AND I threw the stove wood all over that floor while chasing the dog all thru the kitchen. During that chase, the cat jumped up on the churn, the lid flipped over and the cat fell into the buttermilk.






Mother reached down into the buttermilk, grabbed that cat, and threw the cat out thru the kitchen window with the dog following right behind it.






Betty Ruth said, “Oh no, we’ve just lost all of the buttermilk and that butte.”






Mother said, “Maybe not.”




Mother then skimmed up the clumps of the butter and while carefully picking out all of the cat hairs, she placed the fresh clumps of butter into the butter press molds. Mother managed to salvage and mold two pounds of butter. She carefully wrapped the two beautifully molded pounds of butter with wax paper and then with newspaper.She then placed the two pounds of butter and one dozen eggs in my li’l red wagon. And I was sent to Mr. Deaton’s Store At Bethel Springs.






As I entered the store on that day, Mr. Deaton asked me just what did I have in my lil red wagon.






I said, "Mr. Deaton, Mother sent me here with two pounds of butter that she made this morning and Betty Ruth just gathered one dozen fresh eggs for you to sell. Mother said for me to try to get a dollar for the butter, but don’t take less than 50 cents.






Mr. Deaton took 50 cents out of his pocket and gave it to me. He patted me on the head and said: “Joe, you’ll get a whole lot further in this world if you learn not to tell everything that you know.”




I looked down at that 50 cents and quickly put it into my pocket. As I thought about Betty Ruth, the snake and the eggs, the cow stepping into the milk bucket, and the cat falling into the buttermilk churn, looking up at Mr. Deaton as he patted me on my head, I smiled and said, “I didn’t."

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Life as Lucy Ricardo - The Apartment

A golden oldie re-run that always makes me laugh.


I should be embarrassed to tell this story, but apparently I have no shame and no reluctance to laugh at myself. This “Lucy” episode took place in the fall before Mike and I married in mid-December, '66 (based, of course, on winter break at MSU and the date of the Liberty Bowl). We were apartment hunting and pulled up in the parking lot of a small complex near school that had potential. We were disappointed to find that there was no resident manager, but there was clearly an empty first-floor unit. We peeked through the living room and kitchen windows. You remember the starter apartments where the front door and kitchen door were practically next to each other? That was the set-up. By chance, one of us tried the kitchen doorknob – and it was open. It's not breaking and entering if the door's unlocked, right? So, in we went. The first strike against the apartment was the incredibly small size of the kitchen. The best example is that if the oven door was open, you couldn't fully open or close the back door. That's small.
They’d already painted and cleaned up the apartment and, except for the kitchen, it looked really good. But before we left to check out the next apartment on the list, I decided to use the bathroom there. Mike determined that everything was operable, so in I went. I suppose it was because I felt a bit like a trespasser that I flipped the doorknob lock as I closed the bathroom door behind me. I also suppose that the events that followed were the price for our criminal behavior. As I started to exit the restroom moments later, I unfortunately found that the doorknob was faulty. It had no traction. Just turned aimlessly. Naturally, that somehow affected the lock and I couldn’t unlock the door. So now we’re trespassing AND I’m locked in the bathroom. I did everything I could to get the doorknob to catch, but was having no luck. Finally, I just knocked on the door as if asking permission to leave would release me from the unfriendly room. Mike followed the sound and initially thought I was playing a game with him. Nope. So he started struggling with the knob on his side of the door and giving me instructions about what to do on my side in hopes that, together, we could get something to happen. No surprise – that didn’t work either. The door opened into the bathroom so the hinges were on my side. In hopes that they might be loose, Mike told me what to do to attempt pulling that watchamacallit out of that round thingamajig. And that didn’t work either. No use to look for tools in an empty bathroom either. We obviously couldn’t break down the door. That would add vandalism to our illegal entry, and rememberthat there was no resident manager who might begrudgingly provide help. Mike recalled seeing a window in the bathroom, so he told me to have a look, see if it would open and then describe to him what I’d found. Yes, there was a window on the wall next to the bathtub. It was small. It was high. It was one horizontal, rectangular piece of glass. I stepped up on the side of the bathtub and then crossed to the small side of the tub’s rim against the wall. I had to stand on tiptoe because there wasn’t enough room for the whole foot. In that position, I could see out the window. Its lower ledge was about at my shoulder level. I yelled to Mike that it would open. He said he’d go outside to check it out and that I should stay put. I thought to myself, “isn’t that the problem?” Around the building and to the back, which was fortunately sheltered from view from the street, Mike came to my aid and somehow popped off the screen. I peered out and saw that it was farther to the ground than I would have liked. And because of the window’s size and position above the tub, there was no way that I was going to sit in the window and jump down. In case any of you have a doubt, I might point out that I was never a tomboy. Hadn’t climbed trees. Hadn’t dived headfirst from anything except a swimming pool. I got off the tub and prayerfully checked the doorknob again only to learn that it was still broken. I could hear Mike outside telling me that the window was the only way and that he’d catch me. Yes, but would my broken neck heal in time for the wedding? I t helped that I was only 20 and fairly small. It also helped that I’d had a lot of dance and stuff in high school so I was pretty limber. Back over to the tub’s small edge, I started pulling myself up to push out of the window. I used the built-in soap dish as a foothold and was grateful that I didn’t break it. First good news of the last hour or so. I got head and shoulders through the window and started scooting my body forward. Remember playing on a see-saw? There’s a balance point in the middle and, depending on the weight that’s placed on both ends, the horizontal board will tip backward or forward. There was a period of time in going out the window when I became a human see-saw. I was pretty sure that there could be no good outcome. Mike was standing there, arms outstretched, encouraging me to keep pushing forward. And so I did. I finally got enough of me out the window that he could grab my arms, then my shoulders and basically drag me through the window and to safety. He gave me a big hug, told me I was brave -- -- and then we ran like hell. We rented a different apartment.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Yep, It's Texas All Right


Everyone knows that Texas is big. Here are some Texas city names to prove that the state is big enough for some laughs.


Just Texas Pep, Texas 79353
Smiley, Texas 78159
Paradise, Texas 76073
Rainbow, Texas 76077
Sweet Home, Texas 77987
Comfort , Texas 78013
Friendship, Texas 76530

Love the sun?
Sun City, Texas 78628
Sunrise, Texas 76661
Sunset, Texas 76270
Sundown, Texas 79372
Sunray, Texas 79086
Sunny Side, Texas 77423

Got the munchies?
Bacon, Texas 76301
Noodle, Texas 79536
Oatmeal, Texas 78605
Turkey, Texas 79261
Trout, Texas 75789
Sugar Land, Texas 77479
Salty, Texas 76567
Rice, Texas 75155
Pearland, Texas 77581
Orange, Texas 77630
Sweetwater , Texas 79556

Why travel to other states?
Detroit, Texas 75436
Cleveland, Texas 75436
Colorado City, Texas 79512
Denver City, Texas 79323
Klondike, Texas 75448
Pittsburg, Texas 75686
Newark, Texas 76071
Nevada, Texas 75173
Memphis, Texas 79245
Miami, Texas 79059
Boston, Texas 75570
Santa Fe, Texas 77517
Tennessee Colony, Texas 75861
Reno, Texas 75462
Pasadena, Texas 77506
Columbus, Texas 78934

You can see the world in Texas.
Athens, Texas 75751
Canadian, Texas 79014
China , Texas 77613
Dublin, Texas 76446
Egypt, Texas 77436
Ireland, Texas 76538
Italy, Texas 76538
Turkey, Texas 79261
London, Texas 76854
New London, Texas 75682
Paris, Texas 75460
Palestine, Texas 75801

There's also Whitehouse, Texas 75791
And the town named for our planet! Earth, Texas 79031

Cold?
Blanket, Texas 76432
Winters, Texas 79567

There's a lot of history in Texas.
Santa Anna , Texas 76878
Goliad, Texas 77963
Alamo, Texas 78516
Gun Barrel City , Texas 75156
Robert Lee , Texas 76945
You can stay in Texas and still be "way out"
Venus , Texas 76084
Mars , Texas 79062

For the kids
Kermit, Texas 79745
Elmo, Texas 75118
Nemo, Texas 76070
Tarzan, Texas 79783
Winnie, Texas 77665
Sylvester, Texas 79560

Other city names in Texas , to make you smile
Frognot, Texas 75424
Bigfoot, Texas 78005
Hogeye, Texas 75423
Cactus, Texas 79013
Notrees, Texas 79759
Best, Texas 76932
Veribest, Texas 76886
Kickapoo, Texas 75763
Dime Box, Texas 77853
Old Dime Box, Texas 77853
Telephone, Texas 75488
Telegraph, Texas 76883
Whiteface, Texas 79379
Twitty, Texas 79079
Cut and Shoot, Texas 77303
Gun Barrel City , Texas 75147
Ding Dong, Texas

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Happy New Year From the Fun Folk at jibjab

Here's a little jibjab look at New Year's resolutions. I'm not making any. Are you?
http://sendables.jibjab.com/view/IPxY2vIegRTdpqav

Friday, December 17, 2010

Reindeer Jewelry -- Not What You Think






Taking a break from holiday preparation at our household, I encountered this . . . well, unusual story of jewelry, fundraising and the Christmas season. I should tell you immediately that no animals were injured to produce the jewelry. The nuggests came from . . . things they left behind. Enough. Read for yourself.


Tuesday, December 14, 2010

'Christmas Carol' - The Cliff Notes Version

Do you love the political humor of the jib jab guys? Well, they've taken on one of the most famous Christmas stories. Take a look.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Zombies on the Road


This tidbit gets filed under the heading of "strange, but true."


Recently outside Portland, OR, a carload of folks were headed to a party -- a zombie party. The car began swerving erratically, then crashed and flipped. Witnesses and first-responders were initially horrified at the carnage based on the apparent amount of blood and shredded clothing, not knowing that zombie costumes and make-up were involved.


All those taken from the car were sent to a hospital to sort out real from fake injuries. Just imagine the faces of emergency room personnel when these folks started rolling in.


Interestingly, authorities believe that more people were in the vehicle and ran from the scene on foot. I'm thinkin' that those were the real un-dead.


You can read the whole story here --


Friday, July 9, 2010

Online Dating Services - Buyer Beware



During light dinner conversation last night, Mike reminded me of these stories he’d shared previously. Don’t know why I didn’t write about them back then because they’re absolutely true and truly delicious. Here ya go.

Online dating services are commonplace these days as super-busy singles see their real-life options shrink for meeting people. With caution as a high priority, the routine generally takes folks from identifying likely dates, exchanging emails, progressing to telephone calls, and finally to meeting in-person, in daylight, in a public place.

These are the steps that are supposed to assist in weeding out the crazies. They didn’t work for a couple of Mike’s friends.

A lady we’ll call Patty had been investigating online dating and thought she’d found an interesting fellow. He said he was an entertainer; he had a good sense of humor; and they seemed to have enough in common for a coffee date. Patty said she would wear red. He said he’d be able to spot her.

Patty arrived at the designated place at the designated time and scanned the room hoping to see an attractive man headed in her direction. She quickly observed someone walking toward her with a big smile of recognition. Patty blinked, gulped and considered making a dash for the door.

The online Romeo had neglected to inform her that his “entertainment” gig was as a female impersonater. And there he was, fully decked out as Reba McEntire. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a female impersonater. But don’t you think you might mention that before a first date? Or don’t you think you might tell a person about that instead of showing up in full regalia? I’m just sayin’.

Patty is a polite lady, so she sat down with Reba for the coffee date, then went home and deleted him from her prospect list.

Then there was Mary’s coffee date. She was in her mid-40s, and the witty gentleman online was supposed to be 51, charming and available. As she drove into the parking lot of the meeting place, Mary saw a “mature” gentleman leaning on his cane at the front door and felt a sinking sensation.

She was right. The senior citizen was her date and he had seriously fudged about his age, but she would have coffee with him so as not to be rude.

Don’t know why she let him in her car to pick up coffee at the drive-through. Not a good plan. Both coffee and conversation were adequate, but there was not going to be a second date. Mary was looking for someone closer to her age. And something just felt odd.

They exchanged polite good-byes. The man exited her car, and Mary started driving away. Only moments later, she spotted his wallet that must have slipped out of his pocket onto the passenger seat. (Mary later surmised that he must have left it deliberately.) She circled back to the parking lot and, when she failed to see him, looked through the wallet for an address. While looking for that, Mary found his Medicare card indicating that he was at least 65. She located the necessary information and made the short drive to his house to return the wallet.

As Mary walked up the sidewalk to the front door, she could see that, although a storm door was closed, the front door stood open revealing a view of the house’s interior. Stepping onto the front porch, Mary saw no one in the living room so she rang the door bell. And then – Mary saw the dating service Lothario approaching the front door . . . completely naked. She threw down the wallet and ran like hell to her car.

I don’t know, but maybe these guys need some coaching on how NOT to send a lady screaming to the nearest exit.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Betty Boop Meets Dracula










On the scale of bizarre, this 1933 video would get a very high score. There's little else to say about it. Seeing is believing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WM7rB_ecU4E&feature=PlayList&p=E0E47ED22B7C3036&playnext_from=PL&playnext=1&index=18

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Nearly Scary Giant Bunny


This 50-pound bunny isn't what I'd call cuddly, but I suppose it's all in the eye of the beholder. He's four feet long from end to end and eats at the family dining table. Clearly, he can eat anywhere he chooses. He's that big. And he's a rodent, you know.

Although this giant is more than a tad spooky to me, here's what scares me more. His owner has spent around $15,000 on cosmetic surgery to make her look like Jessica Rabbit.

You can see the article and more photos at the following:

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Newspaper This 'n That


Found these today while I was doing a little web surfing. Okay, I was desperately searching for something to post today. It's tax season -- remember?


March 9, 2010 Raleigh News & Observer:

"Experts: Fewer blows to head would reduce brain damage”

Do ya think?

From the New Orleans Times-Picayune many years ago:

"Holy Cross and Jesuit battled to a 0-0 tie Friday night at Tad Gormley Stadium, but the game was closer than the score indicated."

It can be closer than 0-0?

Cnn.com:

"Students expelled after suicide"

Now that's just harsh.

Friday, February 26, 2010

I Fought the Phone -- -- -- And I Won




One of my tasks last week was to call our insurance company and inquire about an unpaid claim. Immediately I know that you know that this is a dreaded undertaking.

I dialed the 800 number and was not surprised to find myself entering a robotic menu. Bot-man proceeded to obtain identifying information only surprising in that the recordings included a clickety-click sound to mimic a human’s typing the data. I was then put through several choices which I made carefully in hopes of reaching a human being.

As I sensed my destination approaching, bot-voice posed the instruction for me to provide the exact dates of service in question. I was stumped. We had submitted nearly a year’s worth of pharmacy receipts. Even if I’d anticipated this question, surely they wouldn’t want the date of each time we’d filled a prescription. The only answer that immediately came to mind was “2009.” Bot-voice responded: “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. Would you please repeat?” Robots are very polite.

I scrambled for a new answer. “All year.” That didn’t work either. Like a naughty child, I was being sent back into menu purgatory, but was somehow disconnected en route. Or maybe deliberately.

Next try. I yawned through the interminable collection of ID info. Went through the round of choices, confident that I was headed in the right direction and was prepared to answer the trick question that had previously stumped me.

There it was. Give dates of claims. “I want a person.” It couldn’t hurt to try. Bot-man couldn’t understand me again. “Wanna person,” I said quickly. Bot-man again apologized for not understanding and then said the beautiful words: “I’ll transfer you to an agent.” Omigod, I had broken through. I almost heard the human’s entire greeting before we were disconnected again.

I muffled a scream, but realized I’d found the answer.

Eagerly, I redialed and zipped through the lengthy, but now predictable portions of the call. Then the critical question. “List dates . . . blah blah.” I replied quietly: “mumblemushmumble.”

Bot-voice didn’t exactly say HUH? – but he did apologize and ask me to repeat. Just as quietly and mush-mouthed, I said, “mumbledymumble.”

“Please hold while I transfer you to an agent.”

Yee-hah!

Nice lady answered. Efficiently took care of our issues. And I learned a valuable lesson that I hand to you as a gift. Telephone menus don’t like mumblers. Next time, I’ll just do it earlier in the menu.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Geographically Challenged



Geography seems to be a problem.

Mike and I were in the UPS store one day in Southern California with a package I wanted to mail to my Mother in Trumann, Arkansas. The clerk assisting us was clearly either a new high school graduate or perhaps a senior in one of the local high schools.

I had provided the recipient’s name, street address, city and state. The young woman appeared to be struggling with the form on her computer, probably scrolling through a drop-down menu, so I spelled the name of Mother’s town noting that it ended with a double N. I presumed that was the hang-up.

With brow furrowed, the clerk replied that she had that. It was the state that was proving difficult. I wasn’t sure how to react, but added that it should be up there around Arizona and Alaska.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve found Ar-KAN-sas, but there’s no Arkansaw.”

‘Nuff said.

Poor Arkansas. Here’s another totally true Arkie story.

When Bill Clinton was in his early years as Governor, he established economic development as one of his priorities. With an excellent labor force, ample natural resources and good transportation infrastructure, Arkansas should be an ideal location for new business.

A national survey was conducted to ascertain the reasons that prevented a larger number of companies from relocating to the state. The surprising and overwhelming answer was that a majority of corporate decision-makers across the nation didn’t know where Arkansas was.

Knowing what obstacle there was to overcome, the state hired a big New York advertising agency to design an ad campaign targeted for business publications that would stress the heart-of-America, geographic location of Arkansas.

The ad was beautiful. The graphic was a U.S. map with Arkansas virtually glowing at its center. There might also have been a sparkling star. But there was one problem. The artist had put Arkansas in the wrong place.

Can’t a state get any respect?

Arkansas doesn’t stand alone in the map madness issue, however. I was once driving an out-of-state visitor down California’s scenic coast highway on the way to a beachfront lunch when she asked, “Just where is it that California touches the Gulf of Mexico?”

Where is it that I can order a U.S. states’ jigsaw puzzle?

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Totally Trivial TV Thoughts


Poor Conan O’Brien is out of work now, and I’ve just decoded all the rumors about his moving to Fox.

It’s really simple. Conan will step into the spot being vacated by Simon Cowell on American Idol. It would be an easy gig for Conan. No interview prep. Three other judges and an emcee to keep the action moving. Heck, following Paula Abdul’s lead, he wouldn’t even have to stay completely awake. It’s a great fit. Are the lines open for voting yet?

On an unrelated matter –

Does it disturb you that the large, decidedly feminine, lipstick-red lips on the Dairy Queen ads speak with a basso profundo male voice? Creepy, I tell you.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Overheard at the Hair Salon





I love going to the hair salon. I also love innocent eavesdropping, so it makes for a perfect outing. You never know what new pieces of info you’ll pick up or, in this case, what new Southern expression will delight your ears.

As I was getting my hair washed, the stylist to my left was doing some serious grousing. Her family was preparing to move and her husband had just phoned to tell her that he was going out of town for a week – apparently once again leaving her to handle the move alone. She was more than a little ticked off.

From the hair dryer area, a client piped up with a variety of tips that she promised would make this the easiest move the stylist had ever experienced. The stylist responded with grumbles that were countered with more cheerful tips and promises of “easiest ever.”

With barely controlled exasperation, the stylist tried to cap the conversation with “I’m sure that’s good advice, but right now I just need some time to be good and mad.”

Client: “Well, you can get happy in the same pants you got mad in!”

Southerners must be the most eloquent people in the world.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

"I Love Jesus, But I Drink a Little"


Here's Ellen DeGeneres and Gladys for a rainy afternoon's laugh.


Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Language Barrier


When I accepted a new position and moved from Little Rock to California in 1985, one of the first people I met was Faye who held the top administrative/clerical position in the organization and probably knew everything about everything. She immediately took me under her wing (she later said I looked like a lost waif) and told me who to sit with, where to go, and what to do when I got there. She eased me into the organization so that I could succeed at my job. We became friends, started doing things socially, and she became my surrogate mom – a fact acknowledged by my Mother. Faye was classy, cultured, well traveled, and a bit bawdy. A lot of an Auntie Mame. Just my kind of lady.

This episode, however, took place with another friend of ours, Esperanza. Despite her fair skin and red hair, Espie hailed from Mexico and was the official, highly educated translator for our organization. On a particular afternoon, Esperanza took Faye with her to visit a Mexican friend of hers who also lived in Southern California.

The Lady, although diminuitive, made an immediate and strong impression. Her silver hair was neatly pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her gentle frock was clasped at the neck, and a lace shawl draped over her slender shoulders. Although she only spoke Spanish and Faye only spoke English, The Lady made Faye feel welcome as she served tea to her guests. Esperanza, as the only bilingual person in the room, graciously included both the other women in the conversation.

Faye had a lovely visit and was enchanted with the obviously high-born lady with whom they’d been visiting. As they said farewells, Faye strained to remember some loving word in Spanish to convey her feelings as she gave The Lady kisses on both cheeks. Remembering the endearing term that Esperanza used for her only son, Faye embraced The Lady and murmured “mi cabroncita.”

The Lady’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped momentarily. But she regained her composure, embraced Faye and said good-bye. Only as they were leaving did Faye notice that Esperanza’s eyes were dilated and wide open and that her face was flushed.

As they exited, and the door was closed, Esperanza exclaimed, “WHAT were you thinking?!” Bewildered, Faye replied, “But that’s what you call your son.”

Wellll, Esperanza’s only son was a ne’er-do-well. He still lived in Mexico and was never as attentive or supportive to his mom as we friends thought he should be. Additionally, he’d fathered a “few” children without benefit of wedlock to any of their mothers and was not held in high regard in our circle.

His mother adored him.

But she also, reluctantly, recognized his foibles. “Mi cabroncito” means “my little shit.”

And that’s what dear Faye had just called The Lady. It was a Life as Lucy Ricardo moment if ever there was one.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Sign Seen in Southaven

"Children's Consignment Sale Today"

I didn't know that was legal.