By Jody Worsham
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for bee repellant and bird cages
Yes, it is springtime. The groundhog is off the hook finally, and the world blossoms once again.
Each spring young people shed shapeless bulky sweaters and sweatpants and replace them with shorts and tank tops, revealing curves and abs that weren’t there in the fall. Notice I said young people. The birds and the bees are buzzing and twittering. Love is in the air…and on every mind. Time for “the talk.” It is every parent’s worst nightmare.
It is time for mom to sit down with the young females and give them the facts. These days she can skip all the biological and physiology aspects associated with a maturing body. The kids have internet and access to television soap operas; they already know that part. Mom has to give them the real facts about dealing with the male of their species. It might go something like this:
“Daughters, males are different from us in the most important ways. Males do not have an internal compass even though they think they do. They will never ask for directions, read a map, or consult On Star. For this reason, whenever you leave the house with a male, especially when in his car, it is your responsibility to see that there is a full tank of gas, there is a supply of food, water, a thermal survival blanket, an umbrella, and a fully charged cell phone.
Similarly, males do not read instructions of any kind. Look for extra screws, bolts, nails, or parts when a male has finished assembling something. If you sit, rock, fold, or pull on anything assembled by a male, do so at your own risk. For the sake of your future children’s happiness, allow at least eight weeks for “Santa” to assemble something if you want it on Christmas Eve. If you don’t, you may find yourself inventing stories about a kind and benevolent St. Valentine who flies though the air delivering special Valentine swing sets on February 14.
Likewise, males have no sense of balance. If the pergola seems to be listing to the left, they will tell you to tilt your head to the left rather than adjust the posts. For them a balanced meal is equal parts alcoholic beverage and red meat. Fruits and vegetables are for rabbits and women on a diet. If these were eaten by males, it would interfere with the plaque build-up in their arteries. You will have to be sneaky with your cooking.
Males never outgrow toys. When young, you may find them playing with a bee bee guns. When they are older the bee bee gun will have morphed into several shotguns, deer rifles, pistols, and anything requiring gunpowder and a trigger. This is especially true of southern males. Be prepared to negotiate a peace treaty at birthday parties when your husband and young son get into arguments over whose turn it is to shoot the new bee bee gun at the target.
Males have ears that are specifically designed to filter out baby cries at 3a.m. or unidentified strange noises in the night. Be prepared to defend yourself from intruders. On the other hand, they have extremely sharp eyesight when it comes to identifying a six-point or an eight-point buck. They also have the ability to focus in on a subject no matter what is going on around them. For example, the Dallas Cowboys are playing. It’s the fourth quarter, fourth down on the one yard line with ten seconds on the clock and a field goal could make the Cowboys Super Bowl champs. A firewoman would have to physically pry the male away from the TV and out him of his burning house. A fireMAN would wait for the commercial.
There is also a special hollow spot in the male’s brain. Its specific purpose is to freeze all hints that have to do with presents. Because of this, hints about presents cannot be processed by the male. I discovered this when I “hinted” to your Dad that for Christmas I wanted something shiny that reflected light brilliantly for my hand. He got me a stainless steel spatula. Also the male’s brain synapses will often misfire when given a choice between two possible presents. Once I told your father that for our anniversary I wanted a new car or a bunch of bananas. I got a lovely bunch of bananas because as he said “I know how much you like banana pudding. I did good, huh?” For the male, you must spell it out, and I mean spell it out.
Now I love your Dad, who is male, but these are the real facts of life no matter what you were told in health class.”
While I am not speaking about you, my male reader specifically, I bet you or your significant other know somebody just like the above.
And yes, this “talk” will go viral and be repeated around the globe again next spring.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for a can of spray paint.
My hubby is of the opinion that updating the house is a waste of time and money; it will all come back in style sooner or later. That is why our house, started in the early 70’s as a cash then build project, has never been updated; actually, it has never been finished but that is another story. If I talk about knocking out the wall between the den and the kitchen for an “open concept”, he reminds me of the early years in the house when we only had studs separating the kitchen from the den and I couldn’t wait until he got a wall up.
“Just wait a few more years and we will be back in style. Remember the appliances? ” he said.
Ah, the appliances. We have been a pay- as-you-go couple for our entire married life so early shopping for appliances always found us at the damaged goods warehouse or the discounted aisles looking for appliances with minor dents, dings, or scratches at much lower prices. That is why I once had an avocado dryer, a harvest gold washer, and a white refrigerator. As all of you appliance owners know, appliances do not break down at the same time. It is a universal law. So by the time the avocado dryer went out, harvest gold was no longer in style or available. I then had a white slightly scratched dryer and a harvest gold washer. When the harvest gold washer finally died, stainless steel was all the rage, but stainless steel doesn’t scratch or dent as easily, so I had to revert back to a slightly scratched white washer. At least they matched…in color, not brand or style.
When we were able to finish the kitchen, black appliances were “in”. To save money, I had to choose a white cook-top. It matched the refrigerator, but I wanted something…anything in style so I opted for a black glass oven, a white dishwasher with a door converter kit to change the door to black , and a black trash smasher. When the oven door finally fell off its hinges and had to be replaced, stainless steel was all the rage. But that would leave me in a kitchen with a white cook-top, white refrigerator, black dishwasher and a stainless steel oven and a hole where the trash smasher used to be. We did not replace that. That was too much variety even for me. I would go all black…eventually… starting with a black glass oven. The white refrigerator got moved to the guest house a few years later and was replaced with a shiny black one.
But wouldn’t you know it? The only appliance NOT to disintegrate, fall apart, rust out, or break in thirty-five years is the white cook-top. It stands on the black countertop like an ancient light house guiding midnight snackers toward the fridge. You might ask “Why not just replace the cook-top?” Three words: Not broken yet!
I am still adding to the appliance savings jar. That cook-top has got to break sometime, and when it does, I will be ready to purchase a slightly dented/scratched white or stainless steel or avocado or harvest gold or quite possibly…if the planets and electronics align correctly… a black matching cook-top!
Hubby says that will never happen. “But don’t worry; by the time our appliances break down again, all those HGTV shows you watch will be combining different colored appliances into a ‘Retro Kitchen’ and you will be right in style. Just wait.”
I bet that’s what the Mayan Calendar Maker told his wife just as he was writing “December 12, 2012”.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for Back to the Future
Over the past seven days, I have enjoyed my I-phone. I was becoming well versed in calling, answering, texting, AND I added maps and weather. This might be a good thing after all. Out of my mouth to the techno-gremlins ears.
Yes, my I-phone became an I- no-own-phone. Well, not exactly a no-phone; more like a no Wi-Fi phone which, since it was also the hot spot for my I-pad, meant no e-mail and connection to the lost world of adults. I headed back to the AT&T store post haste.
Alex met me at the door. With I-phone in hand, he poked, clicked, tapped, and angled to no avail.
“You got any Wi-Fi on your phone?” he finally asked the salesperson next to him.
“No, tower is down.”
“The tower is down”, he relayed to me as if my hearing was also technically challenged.
“When will it be up?” I asked, as if he knew.
I left and headed to McDonald’s for a much needed mocha frappe and Wi-Fi. I spent Saturday at Whataburger for food and more Wi-Fi. Sunday I parked next to the library for free Wi-Fi as I assumed the tower was still down since my I-phone wasn’t working.
Monday I was back at the AT&T store and caught Alex just as he was ducking behind the counter. The tower was up, had been for three days. For the next three hours I stood, drank water, stood, drank water, stood and watched as everybody in the store tapped, clicked, poked, wired-up, switched out I-phones, tried an I-phone4s with no resulting Wi-Fi for me. Finally Alex announced:
“I don’t know why it won’t work.”
I could have said that the minute I walked in. The only thing they could do was RE. RE-fund what I had paid, RE-connect my hot spot, RE-connect that to my I-pad, RE-set my pass word, and show me a selection of phones that would ring, vibrate, send and receive texts. I chose one just like the one I got for the eleven-year-old.
It seems the 21st century has ganged up on me. The brain is willing, but the Techno-gremlins have declared otherwise.
So here I sit with my lap-top waiting for the dial-up to catch up with my writing. I will finish this piece for my blog. Wait and eat lunch. Google my blog. Wait and do a load of laundry. Copy and attach this piece. Wait and go pick up the kids from school. Insert this piece in the blog. Wait. Prepare supper. Hit send.
After supper, dishes, homework, baths, I will crank up my hotspot, connect my I-pad, and e-mail friends that I have a new post. After a full day of dial-up and waiting, I hope Alex’s Grandmother gives him a good talking to.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for accurate Weather app
Do your spring tomatoes now look like wilted stalks of celery?
Does your winter wardrobe have hangar burns from going in and out of the storage closet several times a week?
Do your children march off to school clad in shorts, sandals, t-shirts, wool gloves, and parkas?
Does your calendar say Spring but the thermometer says Winter?
Is your electric meter spinning out of control with both the air conditioner and the electric heater running on the same day and often at the same time?
Have you suffered emotional stress trying to decide whether it is time to uncover the swimming pool or enroll your children in ice hockey?
Did your yearly “Spring Garage Sale” include your long-johns on the “everything’s a dollar table,” leaving you stranded and shivering the next day?
The Groundhog proclaimed to the world, and Facebook, that we would have an early spring. Millions of closets were then stripped of winter shoes and clothing that would be outgrown by the next winter and donated to local thrift stores, only to be re-purchased by the original donors the next day. The entire Southland whose definition of winter is a couple of days below freezing, has been tricked into forsaking Snicker bars, Mocha Frappes, cheesecake, and dusting off “Sweating to the Oldies” prematurely in anticipation of an early Spring and the new swim suite line. Where there should be tan lines, too many are suffering from frost lines.
If you or a loved one or two or three have suffered from this misrepresentation of spring’s arrival perpetrated and instigated by an incompetent groundhog, then join this class action suit against the dumb Groudhog.
Call 1-800-Sue-the-Hog. A member of the law offices of Mason, Dixon, and Southern will handle your claim. Southerners will be given preferential treatment, as it was a Yankee hog causing the problem.