I am a one week old grandma and to tell you that this is the best thing that has ever happened to me since my youngest was born is totally an understatement of facts and emotions. This little boy is the light of my life. Every move, grunt, coo, burp and of course the multiple fartings brings me and his grandpa great pleasure. Which is odd because if it were the other way around and it was his grandpa instead of the little boy that was doing all the gas passing it wouldn't be any pleasure to me at all!
Our little guy has been hiccupping, burping, and sputtering since he was born on November 18th. With every sound that he makes he hears great glee, giggling, and even clapping. His grandpa is so proud of the loud baby belches this small almost 8 pound tike makes. That he proudly tells everyone that he can how great "his boy" is.
But this almost got us into trouble...
The mama, who isn't exactly religious in one way or another, decided that we all needed to go as a family to my church that has a Thanksgiving service every year. She was raised on going every Thanksgiving Day to hear the service and then the half hour or so of annual gratitude for the blessings brought forward through prayer and study. I was pleased that even after being home for less than 2 days she had wanted to take her son to this service.
It took all of us as a tribe to get us to church with time to spare and all of us dressed and most of our hair done. We sat as a family in the pews in the order we had planned, just in case this little sleeper decided that waking up during the service would be a fun idea. Little momma stocked the diaper bag with all the "just in case" items that one could possibly plan for. We all felt pretty confident that we could handle about any situation and that going to church was a good idea.
Sitting in between hymns, half hearing the readings and half focused on the gentle breathing and slight squirms of this warm, rosy cheeked sweet bundle, when all of a sudden he shared with us a thunderous fart! It roared past the diaper through the soft pants and snuggly blanket up to our ears. One look at the mom's face I knew that I had to look away immediately. Except for the matriarch of the family, firmly listening to the lesson, grandpa was turning deep red holding his breath trying not to laugh! The mom was gulping in giggles and laughter and I looked the other way trying to think about what was being read up front.
Being laughy people and usually in all the wrong places and at the wrong times, I do not know how or what helped stop us from making a total ruckus. This just about put us into hysterical laughing melt down. All I know is that if I had looked at my daughter at the same time she had looked at me we would both still be grounded by "G.G." (the Great Grandma)!
Guess you can plot, plan and try to be ready for the unexpected, but I'm not sure what you can put in a diaper bag that helps cork giggles!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Pink are for girls, not cats!
With my daughter just moments, well a couple of weeks, from having her first child I would like to share a story on this almost mother.
I’m not quite sure what she was thinking, how she got her art supplies or why she chose the pure white cat to be her paint medium but her three year old self thought that it was somehow a good idea.
Her dad is a CPA and this just happened to be late March and my due date for our second child was about two weeks away. I was, as they say, “about to pop”. We were waiting for this ever vigilant CPA to finish up his long tax season day so it was after dinner time when I was trying to get comfortable on the couch.
I do not remember the words that came out of my mouth as a pure white cat strolls in on my light beige carpet with a hot pink painted butt and hip. All I could remember was gasping and my mouth flapping as I was trying to stop the cat from laying down and stamping pink cat fur prints on the beige carpet…did I tell you that the carpet was beige??? All I can remember was trying to waddle myself to the edge of the couch and push my stomach forward and somehow try to get up quickly…it wasn’t happening and just as I finally got into an upright standing position the cat laid down. Another gasp and a sigh of relief because the hot pink fresh paint was on his upside and his white cat fur was on the carpet.
There was only one other person in the house accept for me and the baby in my womb and she couldn’t be blamed for anything yet so I called out to my daughter wondering what else was hot pink. I guess my voice was scary and this young one started crying. This told me she was still in her room with her toys like I thought she was but that included a jar of hot pink paint! Looking at the relaxed half asleep cat and back at the other room the threat of more hot pink art made me go in for the jar. She started wailing, “Daddddddy, Daddddddy.” Like I had beaten her and all I did was take the little artist’s paint from her.
Running, well as fast as a waddling nine month pregnant woman can run, I made for the cat just as he started getting up. Bending over (that was a trick) and grabbing him my favorite top was forever cat stenciled with hot pink fuzzy like imprints. Taking him to the kitchen sink because at this point the bathtub wasn’t an option, I put the cat under water. The artist is still wailing, “Daddy, Dadddddy!” The cat is trying to claw my arm off. The pink paint was now dripping rivers of pink streams down his white feet making him look tye dyed and the phone starts ringing. Keeping the cat still in the water, grabbing the phone, it was dear CPA “Daddddy” on the phone checking in. I told him I was about to go into labor as he hears the wailing in the back ground and the cat hissing. I quickly explained the situation and got off…I noticed that he didn’t come home all that quickly, in fact, the cat was white and almost dry, the artist was whimpering in her bed and I was back on the couch trying to get my heart to settle down and the baby was having a kick ball session in my stomach as he walked in the back door! The wailing began again and the cat hid under the bed.
Moral of the story? I found out that cats usually lay consistently on their favorite side. Beige carpets are for the rich and whimsical. When things are a bit sticky husbands have perfect timing on not being around. And….I hope that my daughter locks up the paint, we have four dogs, light blue carpet and an artist on the way!
Friday, November 4, 2011
"I know where the knives are..."
There are a lot of things that young people endure without knowing that they have options.
My parents, not having extra cash, put me into the work force at twelve. Mostly doing babysitting but by fifteen I was a social security card carrying worker of the productive society.
I believe that as soon as one gets too busy with school schedules, friends, and real work most kids get out of the babysitting industry pretty quick. There are those few that are into child development and want this as their future career who might take babysitting more seriously than the rest. But my friends and I got out of this gig as fast as we could.
I babysat for many types of people. Some that liked to party too much and stayed out way too late. That was good money but exhausting. There were the worriers who called constantly as if calling to check on their kids would somehow keep them safer. There were the couples that were the main stays as customers and the one time callers.
Once there was a strange couple with a strange house and two strange children. Their rooms were decorated strangely and the dining room was the epitome of the strange decorations. It had a large mural of strange pictures on two sides and large mirrors on the other two sides. I’m not sure if it was because they liked to see the pictures multiply in the mirrors or they liked to see themselves eat. All I know was that it was strange.
I do not know what kind of games we played or books we read all I remember was as it was getting darker on this hot summer evening I started getting the kids ready for bed. After taking each one to their strange rooms and tucking them in I went into the kitchen to get a soda.
The house was strangely lit and the living room's couch seemed strangely far from the TV. I was trying to watch but not have the sound up too loud so that I wouldn't be bothering the kids' sleep. About fifteen minutes after the tucking in rituals I heard little footsteps in the kitchen. I turned to see the strange little girl looking strangely at me. I asked her what was the problem and she looked at me and said, "I know where the knives are."
Thinking that it was going to be a long night I looked at her and said, "So do I, now go to bed."
My parents, not having extra cash, put me into the work force at twelve. Mostly doing babysitting but by fifteen I was a social security card carrying worker of the productive society.
I believe that as soon as one gets too busy with school schedules, friends, and real work most kids get out of the babysitting industry pretty quick. There are those few that are into child development and want this as their future career who might take babysitting more seriously than the rest. But my friends and I got out of this gig as fast as we could.
I babysat for many types of people. Some that liked to party too much and stayed out way too late. That was good money but exhausting. There were the worriers who called constantly as if calling to check on their kids would somehow keep them safer. There were the couples that were the main stays as customers and the one time callers.
Once there was a strange couple with a strange house and two strange children. Their rooms were decorated strangely and the dining room was the epitome of the strange decorations. It had a large mural of strange pictures on two sides and large mirrors on the other two sides. I’m not sure if it was because they liked to see the pictures multiply in the mirrors or they liked to see themselves eat. All I know was that it was strange.
I do not know what kind of games we played or books we read all I remember was as it was getting darker on this hot summer evening I started getting the kids ready for bed. After taking each one to their strange rooms and tucking them in I went into the kitchen to get a soda.
The house was strangely lit and the living room's couch seemed strangely far from the TV. I was trying to watch but not have the sound up too loud so that I wouldn't be bothering the kids' sleep. About fifteen minutes after the tucking in rituals I heard little footsteps in the kitchen. I turned to see the strange little girl looking strangely at me. I asked her what was the problem and she looked at me and said, "I know where the knives are."
Thinking that it was going to be a long night I looked at her and said, "So do I, now go to bed."
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Milk is not Milf
My children, I think, do not quite get me. I’m an “enigma wrapped in a riddle”. I try to be normal but I do not really know how. So when my children include me in their lives I feel honored and hope that I do not embarrass them too badly. I think what they do to make me seem normal is call me “cute” to justify in their minds my oddness.
My daughter invited me to her new apartment for a pre-birthday party for her visiting sister. She had a group of her friends from her college classes and she was making these delicious spring rolls. Everyone was having fun. It was so nice to see my girls laughing and hear the stories that the young people were sharing.
It was so much fun to get to be included in this party until a young college guy I thought say in my direction “I would like some milk.”
I said, “Oh you want some milk?”
He looked at me and said, “No Milf. You are a milf.”
I looked at him with a blank questioning look. He and several others started bursting out in laughter. I was really lost then and looked to my daughters. They grinned big but then realized I had absolutely no clue what this young man was saying.
“MILF, Mom?” One daughter said.
I shrugged and embarrassed said, “What?”
“MOM?!” said the other.
Still looking blank someone said, “Mother I would like to…”
The embarrassed look on my face went to a whole other level. I think the levels of red in my face went from pink to maroon. Words came stuttering out of my mouth. I didn’t know what to say. The group burst in loud fits of laughter.
All I could end up saying was, “Well…guess you don’t want any milk then…”
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Why? Why do children ask, “Why?”
Have you ever noticed how some children are louder than others? It isn’t that they are deaf or think you are deaf they just speak louder than other children. I do not know if it is because they are all so filled with excitement that everything is at least three or four clicks above normal volume, they are just louder. My youngest daughter should have gone into stage acting. She has excellent timing, now. She has a great sense of comedic talent, now. She understands how people tick, now. She is highly sensitive to people’s emotions, now. She has always had a clear, fill the back row of any theater, type voice.
I used to blame it on her school and the other children, thinking that she was just needing that volume to be heard over the den of the hall or class. We would enjoy her stories but sometimes ask her to lower her voice. Unfortunately there was one time that if I had asked her to lower her voice it was already too late.
You know how children have a wonderful sense of wonder…they just wonder so many things and then find the word, “why?” This child didn’t abuse me or the word “why” with too many questions. But when she thought, she thought big questions. It was one of those questions that just about got me into hot water…but only if I answered the question in the wrong way. It wasn’t that I would answer wrongly if I had been given time to think about an appropriate way to answer it. It was the loudness, the timing, the place. Have you ever noticed that when the question, “why” comes up there are times you just do not know the real correct fast answer?
One of those times occurred all in one very important question and moment.
My daughter and I were walking down the mall one day. Now that I think of it the acoustics of a mall hall can really add to the tenor of this story… We were chatting and looking in the windows at the mall. There were several people here and there. People were coming, going, passing each other. They were in front of us and behind us.
My daughter started her important question with the usual “why” but this time it just about stopped me in my tracks as it significantly slowed the lady passing us down to a near crawl.
In her innocent loud three year old voice I could hear her ask, “Mom, why are there black people?”
She didn’t realize at that age that some people like to be called African Americans and because of how she was raised there wasn’t a strong sense of difference between any peoples brought forth over another. People are and were people in our lives, sometimes a gender clarification of this girl or that boy but not much else. The woman that had been passing us pretty quickly and then slowed her pace to a crawl just happened to be an African American. At that moment it felt like everyone in the mall was waiting for my answer and I felt like my brain had gone flat line.
As a big turn to God person I really turned to Him then. I thought, “Oh, Father! Please give me an answer that will give everyone here the answer they need to hear!”
That was about all I could send forth. I had a three year old and an adult. As quickly as the question and my prayer were, what I said to this young person was this: “You know how we have lots of different colored flowers in our back yard?”
She nodded.
“Well God loves all the different colors that He created in His people.”
She smiled and nodded again as if I had answered her in a way her little three year old self could understand. The lady smiled and picked back up her brisk walk. I felt relief that I was just a simple witness to a higher truth. May I say the word “relief” again? I felt relief.
I’m not sure if when she had that “I’m thinking” face on I would rush her to the car after that. But all I know is that through the years I have asked many times,
“Why?! Why do I always get the hard questions?”
I used to blame it on her school and the other children, thinking that she was just needing that volume to be heard over the den of the hall or class. We would enjoy her stories but sometimes ask her to lower her voice. Unfortunately there was one time that if I had asked her to lower her voice it was already too late.
You know how children have a wonderful sense of wonder…they just wonder so many things and then find the word, “why?” This child didn’t abuse me or the word “why” with too many questions. But when she thought, she thought big questions. It was one of those questions that just about got me into hot water…but only if I answered the question in the wrong way. It wasn’t that I would answer wrongly if I had been given time to think about an appropriate way to answer it. It was the loudness, the timing, the place. Have you ever noticed that when the question, “why” comes up there are times you just do not know the real correct fast answer?
One of those times occurred all in one very important question and moment.
My daughter and I were walking down the mall one day. Now that I think of it the acoustics of a mall hall can really add to the tenor of this story… We were chatting and looking in the windows at the mall. There were several people here and there. People were coming, going, passing each other. They were in front of us and behind us.
My daughter started her important question with the usual “why” but this time it just about stopped me in my tracks as it significantly slowed the lady passing us down to a near crawl.
In her innocent loud three year old voice I could hear her ask, “Mom, why are there black people?”
She didn’t realize at that age that some people like to be called African Americans and because of how she was raised there wasn’t a strong sense of difference between any peoples brought forth over another. People are and were people in our lives, sometimes a gender clarification of this girl or that boy but not much else. The woman that had been passing us pretty quickly and then slowed her pace to a crawl just happened to be an African American. At that moment it felt like everyone in the mall was waiting for my answer and I felt like my brain had gone flat line.
As a big turn to God person I really turned to Him then. I thought, “Oh, Father! Please give me an answer that will give everyone here the answer they need to hear!”
That was about all I could send forth. I had a three year old and an adult. As quickly as the question and my prayer were, what I said to this young person was this: “You know how we have lots of different colored flowers in our back yard?”
She nodded.
“Well God loves all the different colors that He created in His people.”
She smiled and nodded again as if I had answered her in a way her little three year old self could understand. The lady smiled and picked back up her brisk walk. I felt relief that I was just a simple witness to a higher truth. May I say the word “relief” again? I felt relief.
I’m not sure if when she had that “I’m thinking” face on I would rush her to the car after that. But all I know is that through the years I have asked many times,
“Why?! Why do I always get the hard questions?”
Make wise choices “Love the one your with” OR ELSE…
My ex-husband had a bad habit of making me feel like every woman he saw, besides me, was wonderful, attractive, smart and worth “visiting”…it isn’t that he “visited” a lot of woman but when you are an insecure wife the numbers on one side of the score card or the other doesn’t really matter. It is the constant threat.
The day I was fired from his CPA firm was based upon what I believe to be a male conspiracy against wives. A kind of ol’ boys club that I think they invented in their first tree houses. I’m not sure because it is like the Mason’s they have a secret language, code, defenses and when they can catch their wives in less than stellar positions one of their code alerts goes into effect. Even if the men do not know each other they help each other “get her.” She is swooped down upon, castigated, and put into her place.
I’m sure it is due to their mothers always being right and they have a form of resentment…of course Fraud, being a man, never got around to bring this up. He alluded to it in his Oedipus Complex theory but because that was too sick for we mortal women to comprehend we don’t look into it closely enough to protect ourselves from the boys club.
Oh but wait, you men want to know how I was caught, punished and fired…so I go back to the idea of how insecure I was when women were in the same room with my husband (ex). I’m not sure if the fear was based upon a fear of being left after years of investing my time and effort in him or that I would witness him and another woman jumping on each other in front of me and I was going to miss out on something. I hugely doubt the latter.
So, one day I was minding my own business at his business filing in the front area when an attractive woman, not sure if she was or wasn’t the ol’ boys club would have to give a final verdict on that, came into the office. (Actually in looking back at this I should have been just as angry at the woman, and you should be too, gals, but we are trained in many complex and illogical ways so my resentment levels were pointed at him.) So she comes into the office and instead of them talking about her tax forms that she was picking up, they discuss how they could go camping with each other…waiting, ….ya! GO CAMPING WITH ONE ANOTHER, right there in front of the wife! (The worst part is that this woman KNEW that I was his wife…or was the worst part that he was talking like this in front of his WIFE? Not sure now and at this point do not care….)
Here is the firing offense: The woman finally leaves with a giggle and a promise that someday they will go camping with each other. Now, I would understand all of this if his payment was determinant upon a tip and the more giggle you got out of the gal the higher tip. But here is a tip for you, CPA’s charge by the hour…he has already charged you a huge fee so in reality the last giggle is on you sweetie pie…this sounds like I’m still affected by all of this but later I can assure you all how unaffected I am by this.
As she leaves the office giggling and as the door was shutting I turned to him and said, “LIKE HELL YOU ARE!” Just as an older man walks through the door…Red faced I apologized to the old man and hid in the back of the office.
Once my now days husband (and best friend) told me that his dog had run his grandma into the house when she was trying to get him for an offense. I guess it was a switchable offense but the male dog didn’t like her attitude and chased after her, protecting the boys out in the yard that needed some correcting. The boys thought that was REAL funny….. until their grandma said, “You have to come into the house sometime.”
…let’s just say, for the time being, that husband had to come home sometime…
The day I was fired from his CPA firm was based upon what I believe to be a male conspiracy against wives. A kind of ol’ boys club that I think they invented in their first tree houses. I’m not sure because it is like the Mason’s they have a secret language, code, defenses and when they can catch their wives in less than stellar positions one of their code alerts goes into effect. Even if the men do not know each other they help each other “get her.” She is swooped down upon, castigated, and put into her place.
I’m sure it is due to their mothers always being right and they have a form of resentment…of course Fraud, being a man, never got around to bring this up. He alluded to it in his Oedipus Complex theory but because that was too sick for we mortal women to comprehend we don’t look into it closely enough to protect ourselves from the boys club.
Oh but wait, you men want to know how I was caught, punished and fired…so I go back to the idea of how insecure I was when women were in the same room with my husband (ex). I’m not sure if the fear was based upon a fear of being left after years of investing my time and effort in him or that I would witness him and another woman jumping on each other in front of me and I was going to miss out on something. I hugely doubt the latter.
So, one day I was minding my own business at his business filing in the front area when an attractive woman, not sure if she was or wasn’t the ol’ boys club would have to give a final verdict on that, came into the office. (Actually in looking back at this I should have been just as angry at the woman, and you should be too, gals, but we are trained in many complex and illogical ways so my resentment levels were pointed at him.) So she comes into the office and instead of them talking about her tax forms that she was picking up, they discuss how they could go camping with each other…waiting, ….ya! GO CAMPING WITH ONE ANOTHER, right there in front of the wife! (The worst part is that this woman KNEW that I was his wife…or was the worst part that he was talking like this in front of his WIFE? Not sure now and at this point do not care….)
Here is the firing offense: The woman finally leaves with a giggle and a promise that someday they will go camping with each other. Now, I would understand all of this if his payment was determinant upon a tip and the more giggle you got out of the gal the higher tip. But here is a tip for you, CPA’s charge by the hour…he has already charged you a huge fee so in reality the last giggle is on you sweetie pie…this sounds like I’m still affected by all of this but later I can assure you all how unaffected I am by this.
As she leaves the office giggling and as the door was shutting I turned to him and said, “LIKE HELL YOU ARE!” Just as an older man walks through the door…Red faced I apologized to the old man and hid in the back of the office.
The next day this husband goes hiding in his office as his partner calls me into his office. He explains to me my offenses and why he has to fire me…I try to explain my side, but not knowing that in the ol’ boys club there are no provisions for another side, I find that my offenses are too devastating to keep me working at the CPA firm that my husband is 49% owner of. Should I have told you that the partner wasn’t there the day before? That the old man had called him to complain of my foul mouth? That my husband’s hands were tied and couldn’t save me?
I looked at the husband in the dark office trying to hide or hush me because…I could get fired? Oh wait, that already happened…but like the girl I was I got my things and quietly went home…
Once my now days husband (and best friend) told me that his dog had run his grandma into the house when she was trying to get him for an offense. I guess it was a switchable offense but the male dog didn’t like her attitude and chased after her, protecting the boys out in the yard that needed some correcting. The boys thought that was REAL funny….. until their grandma said, “You have to come into the house sometime.”
…let’s just say, for the time being, that husband had to come home sometime…
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Once I was called a horse's ass...but you have to hear the whole story.
I have never been a rich woman. I've been related to rich people but they never figured that I might have been interested for some of there over abundance to come my way. That being said, even though I haven't been rich monetarily I do have a deep rich sense of self-respect, my version any way.
When I was a newlywed, the second time, I had two small children and a three hour round trip drive to the University I was attending. My new husband took a job on the road and was making pretty good money but it still took me three months to save for a brand new portable dishwasher from Sears. I clung to the picture, saved every penny and couldn't wait for the day that I could order and receive this wonderful help mate.
The day finally arrived. The delivery men were to come at an appointed window of time mid-afternoon. I decided that I had all morning to clean the house, do errands, do some homework, receive my sweet dish washing treasure before having to pick-up my daughters at school and daycare. I ran around the house doing some things and then took the girls to school and the sitter. Thinking I had tons of time and since I was already out I decided that I would do the few errands and then go home. I did the errands but as I was driving down the street I saw a large brown box on my driveway. I squinted trying to see if it was my driveway or the many other driveways down my street. The closer I got the more I couldn't understand the large brown box on my driveway and the sick feeling in my stomach.
I pulled into my driveway, got out of my car and slowly walking to the box it proved to be my Sears portable dishwasher. I thought I was going to be sick right there on the drive. With knees knocking and fingers shaking, the adrenalin had already kicked in, I went to the kitchen phone and called the Sears satellite store in my small town.
I slowly asked why anyone would leave a dishwasher undelivered on a driveway. The girl on the other end said that the dishwasher was delivered. Have I mentioned the dark ominous thunder clouds looming on the west of our town? Well, as my ears were hearing the words “your dishwasher has been delivered” they also heard a rumble of thunder. I told her that a box in the driveway wasn’t a delivered package. I hadn’t signed for it and the men didn’t place it in my kitchen where dishwashers work better than on a driveway. She was clearly telling me that my dishwasher, the washer I had so long waited for was delivered and it was now my problem to get it up my porch, through my living room, out of the box and in working order in my kitchen. She was very final on this issue.
Getting in my car I drove to the little Sears satellite store and in person confronted the voice that had been on the other end of the phone. She still didn’t get the intense wrongness of their actions so looking at her and the counter between us I jumped up on it and sat. S-A-T, sat, no budging, no unsitting, no removal of my bum from her Sears satellite store counter until she called the big Sears in another town.
As I was sitting on the counter many things occurred. First she handed me the phone to a nice man on the other end. I very calmly explained all of the above to him and he being very reasonable saw nothing wrong with my being upset and told me that he would send two guys from the big store right away to get this all straight. Second, I didn’t remove my bum from her counter even after this call. Calmly reminding her of my original statement being that I wasn’t going to leave until I had someone from Sears in front of me to help me get the dishwasher, where most all dishwashers are found in my previous homes, in the KITCHEN! Third, an older woman, who had no clue to the situation walked in to get something that they had conveniently delivered to this small Sears satellite, decided that she would put her two cents in. Looking up at me she said, “YOU are a horse’s ass.”
I in turn (and mind you I’m usually very respectful to the elderly) said, “Lady, it takes one to know one!”
When I was a newlywed, the second time, I had two small children and a three hour round trip drive to the University I was attending. My new husband took a job on the road and was making pretty good money but it still took me three months to save for a brand new portable dishwasher from Sears. I clung to the picture, saved every penny and couldn't wait for the day that I could order and receive this wonderful help mate.
The day finally arrived. The delivery men were to come at an appointed window of time mid-afternoon. I decided that I had all morning to clean the house, do errands, do some homework, receive my sweet dish washing treasure before having to pick-up my daughters at school and daycare. I ran around the house doing some things and then took the girls to school and the sitter. Thinking I had tons of time and since I was already out I decided that I would do the few errands and then go home. I did the errands but as I was driving down the street I saw a large brown box on my driveway. I squinted trying to see if it was my driveway or the many other driveways down my street. The closer I got the more I couldn't understand the large brown box on my driveway and the sick feeling in my stomach.
I pulled into my driveway, got out of my car and slowly walking to the box it proved to be my Sears portable dishwasher. I thought I was going to be sick right there on the drive. With knees knocking and fingers shaking, the adrenalin had already kicked in, I went to the kitchen phone and called the Sears satellite store in my small town.
I slowly asked why anyone would leave a dishwasher undelivered on a driveway. The girl on the other end said that the dishwasher was delivered. Have I mentioned the dark ominous thunder clouds looming on the west of our town? Well, as my ears were hearing the words “your dishwasher has been delivered” they also heard a rumble of thunder. I told her that a box in the driveway wasn’t a delivered package. I hadn’t signed for it and the men didn’t place it in my kitchen where dishwashers work better than on a driveway. She was clearly telling me that my dishwasher, the washer I had so long waited for was delivered and it was now my problem to get it up my porch, through my living room, out of the box and in working order in my kitchen. She was very final on this issue.
Getting in my car I drove to the little Sears satellite store and in person confronted the voice that had been on the other end of the phone. She still didn’t get the intense wrongness of their actions so looking at her and the counter between us I jumped up on it and sat. S-A-T, sat, no budging, no unsitting, no removal of my bum from her Sears satellite store counter until she called the big Sears in another town.
As I was sitting on the counter many things occurred. First she handed me the phone to a nice man on the other end. I very calmly explained all of the above to him and he being very reasonable saw nothing wrong with my being upset and told me that he would send two guys from the big store right away to get this all straight. Second, I didn’t remove my bum from her counter even after this call. Calmly reminding her of my original statement being that I wasn’t going to leave until I had someone from Sears in front of me to help me get the dishwasher, where most all dishwashers are found in my previous homes, in the KITCHEN! Third, an older woman, who had no clue to the situation walked in to get something that they had conveniently delivered to this small Sears satellite, decided that she would put her two cents in. Looking up at me she said, “YOU are a horse’s ass.”
I in turn (and mind you I’m usually very respectful to the elderly) said, “Lady, it takes one to know one!”
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