Lego Wars

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for Diplomatic Immunity

My eight-year-old purchased a Lego set with the Christmas gift cards he had received.  I would have preferred that he purchase a small country instead, but he wanted Legos.  When he got home, he piled all 514 pieces on a dinner plate and proceeded to separate them out.

“Have fun!” and I left to take the twelve-year-old to ballet class; then I would have another Wal-Mart walk-about while I waited.  When we returned home, I found the eight-year-old with frustration streaming down his face.  With my teeth artfully imbedded in my tongue “I told you not to get such a complicated toy” came out as “I bet your sister can assemble that in no time.  Want her to try?”

With the pre-teen throwing dartful glances at me, I whisked the eight-year-old to the kitchen for the universal magic cure-all…chocolate and Diet Coke.  With caffeine and endorphins coursing through his veins, he raced outside and up a tree while his sister assembled micro Lego dots.

An hour later, the eight-year-old once again came running in with anger streaming down his face.

“She put my Super Secret Police all terrain SWAT mobile together, then took three pieces off and won’t tell me which ones they are,” said a little future-hubby-without-a-clue.  I bit my tongue, again.

“Well I spent a whole hour putting that thing together when I could have been doing something really important like texting my bff" came from the future-wife-in-training.

 My teeth attacked my tongue.

“Wid  ooo ahwebble it an hi wee pieces wike he ed?”  My tongue had doubled in size.

Translation:  “Did you assemble it then hide three pieces like he said?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t come down out of the tree to even look at it after I spent all that time putting it together."

At that point Dr. Hubby entered the playroom.  He spoke not a word but went straight to work and scooped up all the logo pieces and turned with a jerk.   Sorry, wrong season...poem.

He placed the logos in the center of the table and declared it the DMZ.  Eight-year-olds to the north, twelve-year-olds to the south.  It didn’t matter.  The eight-year-old had already lost interest and retreated to the tree and the twelve-year-old had gone to her room for uninterrupted texting.  I was in the kitchen soaking my tongue in a glass of flavored alcohol and ice.  Hubby followed close behind looking for his universal tranquilizers: “Where’d you hide the Snickers?  Not even any chocolate bars left? Who drank all my Dr. Peppers? “

With the Lego Truce in effect, I am once again going to Wal-Mart.   I will avoid the Lego aisle.  I don’t think I could resist the temptation. With my current frame of mine and swollen tongue, tomorrow’s lead story on CNN might be “Wabbit Woman Wacks Wego aisle.” 

1-800-Sue-the-Hog

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.

Only the Good Diet Young

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for Sugar Free Scales
My friend Lisa, www.themeatandpotatoesoflife , described herself as always being "chunky" but there is still time for her to diet. I, on the other hand, have always been skinny, but there is something about hitting middle age (assuming I am going to live to 140) when the metabolism slows down and your caloric intake speeds up, usually accelerated by the need for a daily glass of wine and a couple of Snickers, that changes things. I now crave carbs and sugar that are no longer burned in a flurry of hyper activity but settling nicely onto my frame. Dieting is too late for me.b>
Aside from the health issues (and do I really want to make it to 140) I must measure the price of slimming down compared to the happiness of a smooth chocolaty mocha frappe and extra butter on my sour dough bread. My husband still thinks I'm cute; admittedly he wears bifocals and has night blindness but I'm not currently considering submitting photos to thePast Prime Time Dating Service or Life and Bran Begin at 70 web sites. I'll give the marriage another 48 years before shopping around for husband number two and the prerequisite diet plan.b>
I have noticed that most of the Jenny Craig, Bowflex, and diet/exercise ads on television feature pictures of young female whale types as" before" and a slim and sleek porpoise type "after" photos. But then young whales and young females have a lot of elasticity in their skin. If I suddenly went on a diet and managed to lose 30 or 40 pounds, I too, could fit back into size 10 clothing, but imagine a balloon that has been blown up to capacity for several months and you slowly let all the air out. Now observe that balloon. It does not snap back into its former tiny jaw-aching-if-you-tried-to-blow-it-up shape; rather it has irregular floppy and droopy sides. Were I to lose said 30 or 40 pounds, the skin around my chins, arms, stomachs, and thighs would be hanging somewhere around my knees along with my boobs. With all that loose skin, I could be Bat Mama and become airborne if a strong breeze came up.b>
I rationalize it this way. My extra poundage takes the place of lifting weights to maintain muscle tone. I just haul my weights with me wherever I go. In these dire economic times, a layer of fat and a sweatshirt may be all I need to get me through a cold winter. If the teamsters union decides to strike or a flood destroys the wheat crop, I've got enough fat stored up to last a month or two before I resort to healthy foods. And besides, fluffy, plump laps make the best place for rocking grandchildren to sleep.b>
"Now, make that McDonald's small mocha frappe an extra-large and yes I would care for an apple pie. Only the good diet young."