Tag Archives: Comedy

Have you Got a Spare Button?

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I was at my daughter’s house this evening. I had to drop everything and rush over because we had a 3rd grade project due on Wednesday. My grand daughter said she could make 50 hair bows to sell at their year end school party. And when I say sell, I mean play money…the kind 8 and 9 year olds have. And when I say bows, I mean real bows, like the kind that need really expensive ribbon and hair clips. She proposed to her teacher that she could do this for under $15.

I asked my daughter how long she thought it would take to make 50 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Lets see….5 loaves of bread at $2.00 plus a jar of peanut butter at $6.00, plus a jar of jelly at $2.00. I’m getting $18.00 and about 2 hours labor…at least for me, at the minimum wage….is still more than $15.00!!!!!

Who the hell is running this project? Someone from China?? I don’t know what their minimum wage is there, but they certainly use child labor and now I’m wondering if feeding the children peanut butter and jelly sandwiches 3 times a day for a 10 hour work day is cost effective for them. Plus they are supplying room and board. What the F is going on in China? Now I’m upset but too old and tired to do anything about it. Anyhoo, we have 50 hair bows to make and we aren’t geared up for that kind of production.

So Nanny went to 5 different stores to find 50, 50!, hair clips at a cost of about $14.99. Yes, $15.00 for 50 fucking metal hair clips. I’m thinking China is on to something. I had the ribbon in my crap room but it still costs money. Charity really does start at home and if you have a 3rd grader with projects due in school, you will understand this.

So I’m at my daughter’s house and my grand daughter is kicking butt at making hair bows with the Bowdabra…. I also bought….for her to make 50! hair bows. My daughter reminded me that we needed to stay out of her project. Well, I guess I’m not involved with the shit load of crap I drove up to her house and the shit load of crap that I bought. Fine, I agreed to pretend we had nothing to do with this as long as she was the one who made the fucking hair bows. Now technically, the Bowdabra is mine so I can’t include it in the cost. But I never wanted a Bowdabra. I don’t know how to calculate the cost of me not wanting something. But now I own a Bowdabra.

The 50! hair bows were made by my grand daughter. But they looked like they needed a little something to pizazz them up. I agreed and I had already prepared for this. I had buttons and sparkly gems to glue into the centers of the 50! hair bows. We were running low on buttons for the center so I asked my daughter if she had any spare buttons. She said no. I said, “What! Where is your button jar?” She said maybe she would have one by the time she was 40 years old but right now she doesn’t have one. Her husband said, “How can you not have a button jar?!? I don’t know how to sew but I know you need a button jar to sew a button onto a shirt or a pair of pants occasionally. Did you ever do anything? How can you not have a button jar or know how to sew a button. My daughter said, “When I buy a shirt or pants, it usually comes with buttons.”

Notes on Being Ill

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i don’t know about you, but every time I get sick I think I have cancer. A cough and/or upper respiratory infection is lung cancer. A headache is a brain tumor. Diarrhea is colon cancer, and indigestion is esophageal cancer or possibly a heart attack. Uaually it just turns out that I had a cough, a headache, diarrhea, or indigestion.

Since I’ve been sick for almost 2 weeks with an upper respiratory infection, I’ve been getting my affairs in order for the inevitable  I pulled out the photo albums and looked through pictures of my loving family who I will probably never see again.  I wondered if they would miss me as much as I am missing them right now.  I cried for them and I cried for me. Then I moved on to cursing the ones who could care less about me and banished them from my impending funeral.  i wondered if the little ones would even remember me and pulled out the calculator to figure out exactly how long I had to live to stay in their memories   Two six year olds, divided by memory, divided by awesome things I did for them, equals at least three more years.  “OMG!,” I thought to myself “could I hang on another 3 years?”

Then I cursed myself for not updating my will and considered writing an addendum  I felt too sick to pull out a pen and paper.  This confirmed to me that I was about to die  I grabbed a box of Kleenex and cried and coughed up flem all night.  “Do I still want my fiefdom divided the way I wanted it divided last year?  I need to change my will because I’m sure I’m fighting with a different family member this year.  Come to think of it, maybe I should just divide the fiefdom equally because every year someone in the family has made amends for being an asshole and someone else takes over the role of asshole.  It’s  like musical assholes around here.”

Anyhoo, back to the point  I’m sick and probably dying of lung cancer…based on the cough and upper respiratory infection.

My gooogle search for home remedies convinced me that I was, indeed, dying of lung cancer.  I switched my search to cancer cures and found out that stress, lack of oxygen, lack of water, and a poor diet were the root causes of my self-diagnosed cancer.

Where the fuck can I find oxygen?  I thought it was in the air we breathe.  Do they sell that shit online?  I couldn’t find it anywhere, not even on Amazon.

Then I remembered grade school:  trees take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen  Humans take in oxygen and release carbon dioxide   So I googled trees and found out that one large tree can supply enough oxygen for 4 adults  Perfect.  I whipped out the calculator.  I have six large trees in my yard, divided by one adult, divided by small birds and maybe the occasional owl, definitely divided by squirrels, equals…..I’m killing my trees!  I need more adults to balance this ecosystem

So now I’m thinking maybe I have too much oxygen, not enough roommates, too many fucking squirrels, and not enough doctors.  Not to mention I’d prefer death than having to eat seaweed everyday for the rest of my life.

Then I read the very fine print on the cancer cure websites  It said they were not medical doctors and neither are you.  It said that they only practice in quackery and if you’ve been sick more than a week, you should consult a doctor now asshole instead of believing everything you read online

So maybe I’m the asshole in the family this year.  I can live with that.  I’m  not in my will.