Archive for the ‘Humorous’ Category

I ‘Mell a ‘Kunk


Over the years I have lived in Iowa, California and Missouri.  All three are beautiful states and are such interesting and diverse places to visit.  What is interesting about all of our states is that each has its own character and its own livestock to which you need to pay attention.  I suppose some folks would deem that the “Charm” of each state, I prefer to think of it as “decider where to live.”

One thing that makes me feel comfortable about Iowa is that I know and understand the animals.  By animals I really mean bugs, reptiles and mammals: I do not mean some of the creepy old men in grimy John Deere hats who saunter into Wal-Mart with their smelly, dirt-encrusted bib overalls, sides unsnapped and flopped open.  Recently I saw one old farm guy who had his huge belly leaking out the side of his bibs.  While a fascinating study in weird, this is not the type of animal I mean.

In Iowa we have deer, raccoons, opossum, beaver, and skunk, which while really cute and loveable in cartoons, don’t cause me to love them.  I have a thing about foul smells, whether they come from skunks or famer guys: more on this later.  In a related note, a few years back we were riding in the car and my small daughter in her car seat said in her lisping way, “I ‘mell a ‘kunk!” (Translated for you non-parents that would be, “I Smell a Skunk”.)  We start them young appreciating and recognizing the sights, sounds and smells of critters here in Iowa.  

For creepy crawlies in Iowa we basically have crickets, spiders, and a few harmless snakes- except some rattlesnakes that somehow came to live in southern Iowa, which have never bothered me.  Yet.  I guess there may be a few more critters that I am unaware of here, but for the most part we are fairly safe from scary stuff, except for those aforementioned questionable Wal-Mart shoppers.

When dangerous animals do wander into Iowa it is a major news event.  A few years ago a black bear wandered down from Minnesota.  A moose or two has lost his way, probably again from Minnesota, and has taken refuge in the Hawkeye State.  I don’t know what is wrong with Minnesota that they can’t keep their wild creatures where they belong; they are falling down on the job.  We all know how those folks are.

Recently a few cougars have been sighted in Iowa; we knew they were here because cars promptly hit them.  Iowa may not be a safe place for wandering wild livestock.

Anyway, for the most part we Iowans are safe from harm and enjoy a life relatively free of fear from marauding animals.  This may not be so true if you are in other states.

When I was 15 years old I was traveling through Arizona with my parents and sister and we stopped for the night in Page, Arizona at the local hotel.  I’m sure Page has grown since I visited there, but I will never know that for sure because I am not ever going back.

For some unremembered reason, I had borrowed a nightshirt from my sister.  My parents, sister and I had settled down for a refreshing night of sleep and this is the part in the story where you should start to get worried about what’s going to happen next.

I woke up at about two a.m. with the feeling that there was a plasticized piece of stitching in the nightshirt poking me under my arm.  I drowsed back to sleep when I felt a deep biting sensation.  I reached into the jammies and snatched whatever it was.  It flopped and squirmed mightily while my hand was wrapped around it.  I promptly threw it as hard as I could against the wall, which was next to the bed.  In the dark hotel room the fact that I actually hit a wall should be applauded.

I jumped out of the bed and flipped on the lights, much to the chagrin of my family who were used to my night-time shenanigans (see  My father ran for his glasses and my mother, who was quite irritated, tried to coax me back to bed by telling me that I had had a nightmare.

She lifted my pillow to fluff it and there it was… an Arizona creepy-crawly.  Years later, after all the screaming, crying and cussing has finally died down, we have decided that it was about 12 inch long and was most probably a centipede.  In researching for this Blog post I have learned that its “bites are painful, but generally not life-threatening to humans, but they can be fatal to small reptiles or rodents.”  Yeah, well it didn’t do me much good, I can tell you that!  For over thirty years now I have suffered from the effects of that night: I refuse to sleep in a hotel room now without checking under the sheets, under the bed and any other place that I think critters might be hiding, waiting to munch on me in the middle of the night.  This does not amuse my husband, but I don’t care one bit!   I don’t like to think of myself as a nighttime snack for any creature.  

If you are reading this and you live in a state other than Iowa, you should be asking yourself what wild animals might menace you in your own backyard.  A friend of mine is from North Dakota; she tells me that they do not have bad people or bad varmints there because, “The cold keeps the riff-raff out”.  Great, somebody slap down some cold on Page, Arizona.  That sort of deep freeze might clean ‘em out.

When my husband and I lived in Missouri we were contemplating a canoe trip with friends down the Gasconade River.  About a month previous to the trip there was an article in the St. Louis Post Dispatch about how enjoyable such a trip could be but that one should be careful not to disturb snake nests.  I can’t remember anymore if they were Copperheads, Cottonmouths  (Water Moccasins), or really some sort of Black Mamba; it didn’t matter.   That canoe trip did not happen.  After all, if that pesky centipede found me in a dark hotel room a swarming nest of snakes seemed more than able to ram my canoe and hunt me down wherever I was.

I guess you are probably wondering why I am not a fan of skunks.  When I was a small girl I went on a walk through the woods with my dear Uncle Earl, whom I considered some sort of a “Mountain Man”.  He was one of those sorts of men who knew every tree, every plant and really everything about the woods that surrounded his home.  He called his land, “Rest Oasis”.  Doesn’t that sound peaceful?  Like a place you’d enjoy traipsing through the woods to find wild black and red raspberries that your Aunt Loras would then use to make some sort of delicious cobbler for dessert? Climbing and exploring through their wooded acres gave me endless hours of entertainment as a child.

Uncle Earl was a member of that much-respected “Greatest Generation.”  He was in the Seabees stationed in the Mariana Islands during World War II.  He didn’t talk much to me about his wartime combat experiences, but he did tell me that one time as they were sleeping in their tents on the island, he woke up with heaviness on his chest.  It turns out that a very large crab had crawled on him and was waiting for him to wake up.  Sort of like a “Welcome to the Islands” crab, I guess.   We don’t have crabs in Iowa, that’s an entirely different kind of critter.  See what I mean?  It helps to know what you are dealing with.

Once, Uncle Earl was traipsing down a path in his woods and I, a little six-year-old explorer, was following close on his heels.  All of a sudden Uncle Earl turned, scooped me up, and ran.  Let me remind you again that Uncle Earl was a veteran; he was not afraid of anything, including Japan’s General Tojo!  So when Uncle Earl ran like HELL I knew to be afraid.  Standing in our path was a skunk; Uncle Earl had come near him and wisely decided to leave before the skunk became annoyed.  Aunt Loras would not have been too happy if we returned to the house all skunked up.  I’m certain that it would have been better to face General Tojo than Aunt Loras if we had smelled like skunk.  It helps to know what or of whom you are most afraid.

Anyway, pay attention to your surroundings, whether you are in the nicest 5 Star hotel, the woods or your local Wal-mart.  You never know what sort of critters are going to come after you.  

Shopping at the Mall


Last Friday, I had one of the most harrowing experiences that a mother can have: I took my two teenage daughters shopping at the mall in a store that we will call “Mall-isters”.  You probably know the store from your local mall, it is the store whose outside looks just like a surf shack off a certain California beach.

All the photos in this place are of very scantily clad young models; the images are all in that artsy-fartsy sepia color. I get shivers when I walk in there because all of them are nearly unclothed and I feel creepily over dressed.  Why are the models so naked in the pictures? Aren’t they selling clothes?  So, don’t wear clothing so that you can sell clothing?  This makes no sense at all to me.

It sorta reminds me of back in about 1977 when my friend’s grandma came to visit her family.  Nanny refused to sleep in my friend’s bedroom because there was a poster of a shirtless Peter Frampton hanging in there and she adamantly exclaimed, “I can’t sleep in there, there’s a nekked man on the wall!!”

I don’t know what it is about all these stores for teenagers.  Personally I think they make them as painful for the parents as possible. When you enter the store your nose is assaulted by the strong teenage Pheromones that they have heavily sprayed all over the clothes.  Perhaps this is somehow like marking the territory for teenagers.  They, like bloodhounds, single-mindedly pursue the scent all through the mall.  Conveniently, the kids don’t even need to use a directory to find Mall-isters, they just follow their instincts.

It’s dark; you can barely see the clothing in the shack.  If you stumble around in the darkness and actually buy something, they hand you your purchases in a bag with a rope handle.  A nekked man is graphically pictured on the side of the bag that you will be forced to schlep around  the mall.  (I think I know how Nanny must have felt).

If you happen to be carrying a little pink bag from Victoria’s Secret people will think that you are in heat.  Most people don’t notice the Mall-ister’s bag at first, it’s not actually bright enough in the store to see what you are getting yourself into.  Consider this your warning.

Additionally, the music plays so loudly in there that you are not able to form a coherent thought.  In my teenage years MY mother would have said to me, “It’s so loud in here that I can’t even hear myself THINK! “ Exactly!!  I finally know what she was talking about.

Today, my own reaction as a mother is, “Okay People, move it! Move it!  MOVE IT!”   I’m practical.  The longer that you are in there, the more likely that it is that you are exposed to the hazards.

I’m actually more like a drill sergeant than a mom when I am dragged to that store.  It’s like when those Navy Seals called on ole Osama bin Laden recently.  They dropped in very quickly, did their business, and got the heck out of there.  That’s how I feel shopping at Mall-isters should be.

If someone could actually whisk me out of there quickly in a Stealth Blackhawk helicopter, I might feel a little bit better about being exposed to all the dangers.   I’m guessing that those perky Mall-ister’s workers in their Daisy Dukes probably wouldn’t even have the opportunity to spray me with cologne.  There are always positives and negatives about those brief duration missions.

Anyway, recently a friend of mine took her daughter to Mall-isters and Little Miss Perky Pants clerk tried to tell her something over the throbbing beat of the store music.  My friend leaned across the counter, squinted (she is 48 and in the myopic years), and said, “What’s that?”

Her daughter was mortified because Perky Pants had said to her, and then dutifully repeated for the age and hearing challenged, “Be sure to check us out on Facebook!”  Humiliated, her daughter felt like this made her mother look like she doesn’t know what Facebook is, which of course, she does.  Well, sort of.

My friend is in that awkward age bracket of, “Technology Challenged But Will Attempt When Necessary” leaning to “No Clue in the World What She is Doing, Needs a Teenager (or an 8 year old) To Assist”.

I guess the truth be known is that I am a little jealous of having a store to shop in where you actually understand the age group and the clothing.   I mean, I know that I am no longer in the teeny-bopper crowd, but I don’t believe that Forever 21 is the place for me to shop.   I can’t be in those clothes Forever.  After the number three pregnancies did on my body I’m gonna need some support garments.   I need a store called “Fleetingly 45”.

Periodically you see adult women buying their clothing in Aeropostale, but you generally don’t see them buying their clothing in The Children’s Place.  I actually think some women would buy their clothing in The Children’s Place if they could.

They would just brag by insinuating to their friends that they are so small and petite that they have to buy their clothing there, it’s the only place where they can find clothing to fit.  This is part of a racket by women against women; this sham happens all the time.  Nobody ever brags that they have grown up so big that they now get to buy their clothes in say, Lane Bryant.

When you are in your forties, it’s hard to buy clothing that allows you to not feel like someone’s mother.  Which you are, but sometimes you want to forget.  You still want clothing to make you look sexy and hot, yet you want it to disguise whatever the childbearing years have done to your body.  The brutal crossroads, which are the forties, can be quite challenging.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but looking back on it I wish that I would have hired a surrogate.  It just seems so easy to have your eggs extracted and have them placed in some woman with a hospitable uterus.

I like the phrase “hospitable uterus”.  It sounds like a welcoming place, doesn’t it?

Anyway, let a surrogate incubate your egg in her darn hospitable uterus!!  She can then birth the kid; you would have no more than a wrinkle line on your face waiting for the kid to be delivered.  Movie stars do it all the time.  I don’t know where my mind was and why I didn’t think of that.  Maybe if I had used a surrogate she would want to take my girls to Mall-isters; I bet the surrogate would know what Facebook is and wouldn’t embarrass them by her ignorance, or lack of hearing.

I wasn’t one of those women who felt that their woman-ness came from being pregnant.  I could take it or really leave it, since it produced stretch marks, saggy boobs, elastic skin, weight gain, and hemorrhoids, not to mention the absolute continuing confusion that doesn’t allow me to think straight.

Maybe that confusion is why I get dragged into clothing stores where I am nasally assaulted, visually challenged, eustachianly irritated, not to mention financially raped.   I don’t mean to complain.  I truly hope that my girls enjoy Mall-isters, before they know what hit them they will be shopping at “Fleetingly 45”.