Chasing a pesky
Of Nasty flypaper
Chasing a pesky
Chasing a pesky
Of Nasty flypaper
Have you ever wondered why wayward wanderers were wayward?
What’s to gain from protesting intolerance by being intolerant?
Why does my nose itch when carving a roasted chicken or turkey?
Will there ever be a Fat & Furious franchise–if so, I’m in?
Today was National Middle Child Day, but nobody knew about it.
Why do Windows updates always take out my favorite things?
Are the roads not taken still available?
Why not drink the last drop first-wouldn’t that make it last longer?
Are introverts innies or outies?
Welcome to, yet another, in a series of morning, creative endeavors. Here, with Marty, my imaginary, sometimes annoying, alter-ego.
“Summer is creeping up on us.”
“That’s right, You.”
Why Marty never called me by my real name was still a mystery.
“Along with outdoor activities–backyard barbecues, splashes in the pool, will come annoying bugs and gnats.”
“You better know it.”
“They’ll bug you when you’re swimming in your pool, they’ll bug you when you’re gassing up your car, they’ll bug you–make you look like a fool.”
“Marty, any particular reason you’re channeling Dylan this morning?”
“No, it’s just a Dylanesque kind of day.”
“Any suggestions for keeping annoying summer insect pests away?”
“I put a baggie full of water over my porch’s screen door. It’s supposed to keep gnats away. It broke and somebody got drenched.”
“Any suggestions that work?”
“Not sure how well they work–citronella candles, dryer sheets, spray on, outdoor repellent. Anyway, it makes people feel better–knowing they’ve done something.”
“So Marty, what you’re saying is, they’re really like placebos.”
“You know that’s right.”
“Coming up–weather gossip on the fives.”
My watch band broke. A tiny, little pin fell out. I’ve been looking at my bare wrist ever since. Went to two jewelry stores to have it repaired. Was referred to a third jeweler, some distance away that could possibly fix it. I now have a new watch.
It’s the annual spring power, house wash. Driveway, sidewalks, windows, walls freed from winter grime and mold.
The dogs are barking and growling at the intruder in their domain. Now, it’s their nap time.
On the beach, blue dragons washed ashore. What were blue dragons? Blue dragons were really sea slugs. “Blue Dragons” appealed to me more than did sea slugs. Blue dragons diverted attentions away from recent shark sightings.
A rather large alligator was spotted in the busiest part of downtown. It was captured by fire and rescue. When did that become their job? The gator was relocated and released.
It’s nearly summer here. That’s when the creepy crawly creatures come out. Another negative airline story, just today. American Airlines took the heat off United Airlines. Just goes to show you–it’s always something.
“Hi Dot. It’s been too long. Stop by again–sometime.” Mom’s given name was Dorothy. Her friends called her “Dot” or “Dottie” before me and my siblings came along. Nicknames, that were logical extensions of Dorothy. It seemed weird at the time.
My given name was William, or William, middle name Arthur. Nobody called me William or Willie–there was the normal Billy, when I was younger, and then Bill. My closest friends called me “Wild Bill,” after I reached adulthood. My middle name was left untouched.
Public school kids were cruel. Nicknames intended as put downs, emphasized worst qualities. “Four eyes,” for glasses wearers; “gimpy,” or “gimp,” named anyone with hitches in their get-a-longs.
In our little town, several residents had unusual nicknames. There was “Peachy” Leach, “Push” Banks, “Silver” Scroggins, “Punk” Dowland; sometimes Floyd Rands was called “Slats.” Never figured the last one out–unless it related to the “Abby And Slats” cartoon.
In high school, I was saddled with “Ice Blue,” because of excess perspiration. I was also nicknamed “shaky” because of excessive nervousness. Neither nickname stuck with me–thank goodness.
Why couldn’t I have had one of the cool nicknames–like, Scooter, Skip, Buzz, Zip, Biff? All of which signified action–toughness. It was just as well, none fit my personality. None except “Wild Bill.” I’ll leave everyone to figure that one out.
For ultimate weapons
Terminology seized upon
By capitalist opportunists
MOACS–mothers of all clearance sales
MOAP’s, FOAP’s–mothers, fathers of all pizzas
MOAPCS–Mother of all pre-owned car sales
Overplayed, until they became PM,F,OATTA
Pathetic mothers, fathers of all trite, tired, acronyms
I won’t even mention, except in passing
The poor folks in Moab, Utah
What must they be thinking?
In the spirit of the season, a retake on “The Easter Egg House” from three years ago. This was a cautionary tale, on the perils of not consulting one’s spouse, when it came to home decorating ideas.
The shutters were faded. Formerly Wedgewood blue–they looked more gray than blue. “Honey, if I painted the shutters they would really make the front of the house pop,” I suggested. “Just don’t spend too much money. Keep it as close to the original color as possible.”
My helpful paint store friend showed me color chips–and more color chips. There was “On the Town” blue, “At the Opera” blue, “Philadelphia Independence” blue, “Katmandu” blue, and what the heck was “Etruscan” blue? In the hundreds, perhaps thousands of chips, there was no Wedgewood blue. I was all alone–lost in the color forest.
It was dumb on my part–I didn’t bring a color swatch with me. A picture–anything, would have been helpful. On to “Plan B”–select what I imagined, was closest to Wedgewood blue. My good intentions jumped the track at that point. I selected “Regatta Blue.” It was a pleasant color–who didn’t like ships, sailing, and the sea?
My color choice became the talk of the neighborhood. At home my “Regatta Blue” morphed into a garish, happy, Caribbean steel-drum band blue. It should have been, “Weekend at Bernie’s,” blue–I was gonna’ be so dead. There was no easy way out of this dilemma.
“The house looks like an Easter egg,” She said. “You’ve got to repaint. I can’t bear looking at this every day.” This time we went together to a different paint store. I wasn’t going to risk going back to the same store and explaining.
A darker, more tranquil shade of blue was selected. I hated do-overs. For the colors to match, all shutters had to, first, be painted the lighter, brighter blue–then top-coated with darker blue.
Then, the gossip started. the phone rang off the hook. “Do you know what your husband is doing?” “That color is hideous.” “Where did you get that color?” “Why is he painting your shutters two different colors?” “When is he going to do something about it?”
None of my neighbors called my bright blue shutters ugly to my face–only behind my back. I knew what they were thinking. Nobody had to spare my feelings. The shutters looked good, with what turned out to be six coats of paint. I’ll carry this, along with the approximately 2,917, plus another 32, blunders made in my life–thus far.
I got in digs with one particularly pesky neighbor. “Would you like me to paint your shutters and trim when I’m finished? I’ve got extra paint left over. Could I paint your birdhouses? They’re looking a bit shabby.” There was no response–only silence.
Ripping out my guts for your entertainment
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