Category Archives: Just for Fun

HARDY-HAR-HAR

This shelter-in place confinement has affected all of us.

I now have a deeper appreciation for the freedom to come and go at will. On any given day two months ago, I may have zipped to the library, post office, and grocery store, and then suggested to Dan that we go out for supper.

Not so today.

My thinking patterns have changed.

I have spent more time pondering how awful it would be to lose a family member or friend.

Also, I have reflected on hard times experienced by people of past generations: the wars, droughts, depressions, and plagues they endured.

Compared to their sufferings, I have been only mildly inconvenienced.

I have thought more about some good things in life that still exist: the sunshine, the arrival of spring blossoms, and, as I will emphasize in this article, laughter.

I grew up with family members who had a sense of humor. I am glad they did.

My dad came home one day with a big, round object in his coat pocket.

“You kids will never guess what I brought home with me,” he said.

He let us glimpse a part of the object in his pocket.

“It’s a monkey!” he said.

We kids stared in amazement! It WAS a monkey in Dad’s pocket!

Well, no, it was not a monkey. It was a coconut.

Monkeys were not abundant in north Arkansas.

But notice how much a coconut looks like a monkey when only a portion of its hairy, face-like surface is revealed.

My siblings and I still laugh about that little snippet of memory from our childhoods.

Our mother was quick-witted, could turn a phrase and never hesitated to laugh, even at herself.

One day she and my adult sister were shopping at Walmart.

The two of them gabbed and laughed as they dropped things into their separate carts.

Then, as Mom bent to place a new item into her cart, she stopped short.

It was not HER cart she was pushing.

At some point she had abandoned her cart and had begun pushing a cart loaded with dozens of pairs of white, canvas tennis shoes marked down for quick sale!

She and my sister laughed then and continued to laugh every time they retold that story.

That same sister, Pam, tells another funny story.

She one day noticed a bad smell in the bathroom of her and her husband Jim’s house. (This “bathroom” story is not going where you think it is.)

“What’s that awful smell, Jim?” she asked.

Her husband said he didn’t know.

“Smells like a dead animal,” he said.

“EEEEK!” screamed my sister

I can picture her now, grabbing a dishtowel and holding it over her nose.

“You go in the bathroom and shut the door,” Pam said to Jim, her voice muffled by the towel. “I’m not going back in there. Take your phone and call me when you find what it is.”

Jim had been in the bathroom for a while when he reported back. “Something dead is inside the wall,” he said through his phone.

“EEEEK!” screamed Pam, through the phone that she held beneath the towel.

“I’m going to have to cut into the wall,” Jim said.

“EEEEK!” screamed my sister.

Pam heard sawing and hammering noises coming from the bathroom as she paced the floor a safe distance away. In a few minutes, she heard this.

“What in the world?!” Jim said into the phone.

“What? What? What is it?” Pam asked.

“It’s a nest of dead baby mice,” Jim said.

“EEEEK!” screamed Pam.

“I guess the mother mouse escaped but left her babies to die inside the wall,” Jim said.

“Oh, no!” Pam cried. “That’s so sad.”

My sister, the damsel in distress, did everything but put the back of her hand to her forehead and swoon while her knight in shining armor rescued her from a nest of dead baby mice.

My brother-in-law, an unsung hero.

My other sister, Joni, is a riot. She says and does funny things all the time.

I would not have said Joni and I look alike, but apparently; we do.

One day she and I were shopping together in a clothing store.

I saw Joni approaching me. I held up a dress to show her and began commenting on it.

Suddenly, there was Joni standing at my side. She put her hand on my back.

“Stop walking, Debbie,” she said. “See that woman you’re talking to, the woman you thought was me coming toward you? That woman is you. You’re about to walk into a mirror.”

I must not leave out my brother, who claims he never gets more than an “honorable mention” in my stories, because he is the only male sibling.

He is the best brother ever, and a great storyteller.

On the day he got his first pair of bifocals, his eye doctor said to him, “Now, Sam, it’s going to take you a while to get used to these bifocals. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall.”

Sam listened.

“Stairs are especially tricky,” warned the optician. “Walk around here in the office for a few minutes before you leave to head home.”

Sam thought the doctor underestimated his (Sam’s) skill at adapting. He walked a few paces in the office, felt confident, said, “I’m good,” and left.

Then, wearing his new glasses, he strode out the door and walked onto the sidewalk.

He stepped down off the curb, and in his words, “almost removed my kneecap and the front bumper of my truck in just one step.”

We all need to laugh.

  • Remember Dick Van Dyke falling over an ottoman at the opening of his show?
  • How about Carol Burnett in her spoof of Gone with the Wind prancing elegantly down the stairs wearing a dress made of green curtains, with the curtain rods extending through the armholes?
  • Tim Conway, the clumsy dentist who accidentally injected his hand with numbing medicine as he worked on Harvey Korman’s teeth.
  • All the fabulous one-liners exchanged between Hawkeye Pierce and B. J. Hunnicutt on M*A*S*H, one of the funniest (and most serious) shows ever on television.
  • Victor Borge and his hilarious piano stunts.

I will leave you with a classic: Abbott and Costello’s Who’s On First?

Enjoy the laughs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTcRRaXV-fg

SMILE!

Here in central Indiana, we’ve endured a long stretch of dreary, sunless days.

I don’t know how many days the sun hid itself from us, but I’m guessing around 47.

Anyway, yesterday and today the sun has shown brightly.

I am so happy to see it, I could dance in the street.

But, I’ll restrain myself.

Instead, I’ll try to send a little happiness your way by sharing a few of my favorite jokes.

I would credit the originators of these jokes, but I don’t remember where I heard or read them.

Here they are, and you’re welcome.

Joke #1 Crayfish Haystack

A certain man had the unfortunate name of Crayfish Haystack. He was a friendly fellow and knew almost everyone.

He and his friend, Benny, traveled quite a bit, and everywhere they went, Haystack saw people he knew.

Benny was astonished!

“Do you know everyone?” he asked.

“Pertnear,” said Crayfish.

One day Crayfish and Benny visited Washington, D.C.

There they saw a crowd of people who were waiting, apparently, for some important person to speak on an outdoor platform.

Benny and Crayfish joined the crowd.

Within a few minutes, Crayfish saw President Trump step onto the stage.

Crayfish, of course, knew President Trump, so he made his way to the platform, shook hands with the President, and chatted for a few minutes.

When he returned to his spot in the crowd, he saw Benny lying flat on the ground, out cold.

“What happened to Benny?” Crayfish asked another person in the crowd.

“I don’t know,” the man answered. “I just asked him if he knew the name of the man on the stage talking to Crayfish Haystack, and he fainted.”

Joke #2 The Seatbelt

A driver was cruising along a city street when he saw flashing blue lights behind him.

It dawned on him suddenly, that law enforcement officials had announced they would be stopping random cars to make sure everyone in the car was wearing a seatbelt.

This driver was not wearing his seatbelt.

As quickly as he could, he reached up, grabbed his seatbelt, and buckled it securely.

He pulled to the side of the road, and the trooper pulled his car up behind him.

The trooper walked to the driver’s side of the car. The driver lowered his window.

“Look at my seatbelt,” said the driver. “I always wear it,  just as I’m supposed to.”

“License and registration, please,” said the trooper.

The driver reached toward the glove box to get his paperwork, but he couldn’t reach it.

“See?” said the driver. “I’m wearing my seatbelt.”

“I’m getting to that,” said the trooper. “License and registration, please.”

Again the driver tried to reach the glove box but couldn’t.

He stalled.

“Officer,” said the driver, “I know you’re checking to make sure I’m wearing my seatbelt, and, as you can see, I am wearing it. I always wear it.”

“Yes,” said the trooper, “I’m sure you do. But do you always loop it through your steering wheel like that?”

Joke #3 The Nearsighted Spinster

A certain spinster was advancing in age and was becoming desperate to find a boyfriend.

She knew men were not attracted to her because she was piteously nearsighted and wore thick-lensed glasses.

Finally, a man showed some interest. He went by the spinster’s house a few times and sat with her in her porch swing.

Things didn’t move along very fast, and the spinster was certain it was her glasses that stood in the way of her having a long-lasting relationship with this man.

One day, when she knew the man was coming for a porch swing visit, she walked far out into the pasture near her house. There she stuck a tiny sewing needle into the bark of a tree.

She went back home, removed her glasses, and sat in the swing to wait for her suitor.

He came, and as they talked, she looked intently toward the pasture.

“What is it?” asked the man.

“Why, I believe I see a sewing needle in the bark of one of those trees out there.”

“What?” asked the man. “You surely can’t see a needle from this distance.”

“Of course I can,” said the spinster. “I’ll go get the needle and prove it.”

The spinster went running out through the pasture, arms outstretched toward the tree, and tripped over a cow.

DARK DAY MUSINGS

Occasionally, I look at Dan when he appears to be deep in thought,  and I ask, “What are you thinking?”

As often as not, he says something like, “I don’t know. Nothing.”

But that can’t be true.

We’re never not thinking. (Forgive my double negative.)

I know this because I’ve tried not to think.

I can’t do it.

The best I can do is think: I don’t want to think this thing I’m thinking.

On a recent dark and rainy Saturday, my cooped-up-in-the-house-too-long mind wandered to these places.

I thought:

 

 

What is that one tiny germ or group of germs (0.1% of all known germs) that no household cleanser in the world can kill?

 

 

 

Why do they make a sleeping bag bag ALMOST big enough to get the  re-rolled sleeping bag back inside it?

 

 

 

 

 

Why don’t they make trash bags out of the same strong plastic they use to hold Happy Meal toys? You know, that plastic that requires gardening shears to open?

 

 

 

 

 

Why do I always have more lids than storage bowls?

 

 

 

Why do I fret about the grandkids mixing Play-Doh colors? There’s no way for a kid to make a reasonable facsimile of a salad or a representation of worms climbing up a Neptunian mountain without using multiple colors of this cheap artistic medium.

 

 

Why do I painstakingly put Legos, Lincoln Logs, Peppa Pig figures, toy jewelry, and My Little Ponies into assigned and labeled totes when, after the grandkids have been here for five minutes, each tote contains what look like the leavings of a four-day yard sale?

 

 

 

If I would spend less time trying to get sleeping bags back inside their bags, putting trash into new bags because the original bags burst, matching lids to bowls, putting Play-Doh into the right cans, and sorting puzzle pieces from Lincoln Logs and toy jewelry, I might discover and destroy that tiny germ that thwarts every effort by household cleansers to kill it.

The world would then be a better place and I would be a happier person.

Or, maybe I should give that trying to think about nothing business another try.

 

OKAY, OKAY

Dan and I are in Hawaii.

Allow me to get this out of the way first: Hawaii is beautiful. The colors, scents, and waters are all magnificent. People are friendly.

Here is the problem.

Road/street names are impossible to pronounce, much less remember.

This has led to some one-of-a-kind conversations between Dan and me.

Dan:  What was the name of that road we took to Rainbow Falls?

Debbie:          Hmmmm. Did it rhyme with bikini?

Dan:               No, not that one.

Debbie:          Was it a long name?

Dan:               No. Only about 12 letters, as I recall.

Debbie:          Was it the name of a queen or king?

Dan:               No, I don’t think so.

Debbie:          Was it that Kamahamahamahamaha-something road?

Dan:               Could have been.

Debbie:          Then that was a queen or king road, Dan.

Dan:               It had kiki in it somewhere, I think.

Debbie:          Did it have those upside-down apostrophes in it?

Dan:               Yes, and a hyphen, I believe.

Debbie:          Something, something, something poo-poo?

Dan:               No, it had a k in it.

Debbie:          They all have k’s in them.

Dan:               It might have been Kaholo.

 Debbie:          No, Dan. That’s the name of the boy at the airport.

Dan:               Kapa-kapa?

Debbie:          No. That’s a kind of grape.

Dan:               Koali Li?

Debbie:          The flower we said looks like a morning glory.

Dan:               There’s a sign: Lio Hadway Pikonia Loop. Could that be it?

Debbie:          Looks to me like that just goes into a neighborhood.

Dan:               Wait! There it is! Waianuenue Avenue.

Debbie:          Where’s the k in that, the hyphen, the upside-down apostrophe?

Dan:               Well, I thought it had those things in it.

Debbie:         I can’t help you if you give me bad information. Let’s eat.

Dan:               Okay. What is the name of that restaurant we like?

Debbie:          I can’t remember. I think the name starts with a k.

IN DEFENSE OF PRETENSE

I want people to like and respect me. To that end, I employ a bit of  pretense. I profess to endorse habits I don’t practice.

For example, I claim I can’t tolerate driving or riding in messy vehicles. This is a lie. I ride in nothing but messy vehicles.

 

I tell people their bad grammar doesn’t bother me. It drives me insane. That doesn’t mean I don’t like people who say things like “just between you and I.” I like some of these people quite a bit, and even love a few of them.

 

I claim I like growing geraniums. I don’t. Growing geraniums is messy and requires work. But I do like having pretty geraniums on my patio each summer.

 

I say I want to learn to play the piano and to create artful flower arrangements. It’s true that I want to play the piano and arrange flowers. I just don’t want to learn to do either one of them.

 

I tell people I exercise regularly. In truth, I walk outside or on a track once or twice a week.

 

I also claim to be five feet, six inches tall when I am five feet, five inches tall, so my weight and height are more proportionate. I say I don’t know how much I weigh because my scale is broken (and I hope to goodness it is).

 

I tell people I don’t watch much TV. This is true only if you don’t count mini series like Downton Abbey, The Crown, Victoria, Doc Martin, Midsomer Murders, Sherlock, Death in Paradise and Dr. Blake Mysteries;  or true crime shows like Dateline, 48 Hours and 20/20.

 

I claim I don’t like candy corn, jelly beans, sour balls or gummy worms. This claim is true. I don’t like these treats unless they are the only sugary items in the house. Then I like them well enough to eat them.

 

I have managed to attain some goals legitimately, without pretense. I am an involved grandmother; I keep a reasonably clean house, read good books, practice rigid oral hygiene, and change the bed sheets once a week.

But my real pursuit in life is to be liked and respected because I am a woman who drives a clean car and who is tolerant of people who dangle modifiers; a woman who enjoys growing geraniums and likes the challenge of learning new things; a woman who exercises regularly, and whose height and weight are proportionate; one who doesn’t watch much television and who is selective and uses moderation when she occasionally eats junk food.

How am I doing?

Conversations Between Two Old Fogies

(THIS MORNING, AT HOME)

Debbie:          Dan, I’m washing a load of whites with bleach.

Dan:               Okay.

Debbie:          Do you have anything you want to toss in?

(Dan tosses in a white t-shirt.)

Dan:               I thought you said you were washing whites.

Debbie:          I am.

Dan:               Whites with bleach.

Debbie:          I am.

Dan:               Then why is a brown towel in the washer?

Debbie:          The bleach won’t hurt it.

Dan:               But why is a brown towel in the washer with the whites?

Debbie:          Because it’s dirty??

Dan:               Will you please just answer my question?

Debbie:          I did answer your question.

Dan:               No, you didn’t.

Debbie:          The brown towel is dirty. The bleach won’t hurt it.

Dan:               But why are you washing it in bleach water with whites?

Debbie:          I wash all our towels in bleach water with whites.

Dan:               Okay. Thank you. Geesh.

————————————————————————————

(LAST WEEK, IN GATLINBURG)

Dan:               Why didn’t you bring your other shoes to Gatlinburg?

Debbie:          What other shoes?

Dan:               The ones you bought before we went to Alaska.

Debbie:          Oh, I just brought these instead.

Dan:               I know. Why?

Debbie:          Because the ones I bought to wear in Alaska are clunky.

Dan:               You bought them to wear in Alaska if we hiked.

Debbie:          I know.

Dan:               Didn’t you think we might hike in Gatlinburg?

Debbie:          Not on icy tundra.

Dan:               They’re good hiking shoes for anywhere.

Debbie:          Maybe so, but they’re still clunky.

Dan:               They’re waterproof and have gripping soles.

Debbie:          That’s what I said. They’re clunky.

Dan:               Perfect shoes for Gatlinburg.

Debbie:          I brought these instead.

THERE. THAT’S THE DEFINITION OF RETIREMENT.

WHO SAID THAT?

TEST YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF CLASSIC CHRISTMAS MOVIES AND TELEVISION SPECIALS. CAN YOU NAME THAT SHOW?

“Is there a thermometer around here?”

“Aaah! “Fra-GEE-leh!” It must be Italian!”

“Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store, maybe Christmas perhaps… means a little bit more!”

“Rats. Nobody sent me a Christmas card today. I almost wish there weren’t a holiday season. I know nobody likes me. Why do we have to have a holiday season to emphasize it?

“This fog’s as thick as peanut butter!”

“And may all your Christmases be white. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, movie house! Merry Christmas, Emporium! Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Building and Loan!”

“Yes! Yes I do! I like Christmas! I love Christmas!”

“The four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup.”

“And we’re gonna to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas!”

“Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can’t see.”

“This is extremely important. Will you please tell Santa that instead of presents this year, I just want my family back. No toys. Nothing but Peter, Kate, Buzz, Megan, Linnie, and Jeff. And my aunt and my cousins. And if he has time, my Uncle Frank. Okay?”

Would you please tell her that you’re not really Santa Claus, that actually is no such person?

KIDS, CAMERAS, AND COATED ASPIRIN

Occasionally, I drop an allergy pill or a low-dose aspirin while filling my weekly medicine boxes.

Like any responsible grandparent of young grandchildren, I assiduously search for the renegade pill.  I sweep the area, use a flashlight to look under furniture and appliances, and vacuum the whole room, even going so far as to dig through the disgusting crud inside the sweeper bag in search of that tiny, round object. No pill.

But, let my adorable, angelic, toddling granddaughter enter the house, and before I can even pick her up and cover her face with kisses,  she spots that lost pill and makes a beeline for it, her mouth already open to eat it.

The same is true of a missing sewing needle, earring, or dried up green pea hiding behind a kitchen table leg.

How does this happen? Do kids have an as-yet undiscovered magnetic aptitude that pulls them to things they aren’t supposed to have?

In 1986 Dan and I were given a “free” (ha) trip to Hawaii. Lara was 7 at the time and Ryan was 4.

Shortly before we were to leave, Dan and I had strewn our house with suitcases, camera equipment, shoes, and clothes we would take on our trip.

Which of those things attracted our kids?

Dan’s brand new, $400 Canon AE-1 camera, of course.

In a feat requiring mechanical ability neither of them should have had, they unattached (broke off) the little metal doohickey (a technical term) on top of the camera that the flash apparatus was supposed to slide into.

On another occasion, Lara opened a bottle of Wite-Out (remember that stuff?) and painted her doll’s face with it. I don’t know where that doll is today, but I guarantee you those white stripes are still on her face.

She also got into my jewelry box, selected, and thoroughly chewed up (yes, with her teeth) the only nice gold necklace I owned.

Her brother opened a bottle of red nail polish and painted our bedroom wallpaper with it. He also broke the windshield in his dad’s truck as he sat inside it one particularly boring, sunny day, and popped open a spring-loaded umbrella he found under the seat.

Dan and I had bought the most popular toys of the day for those kids.

But what kid wants to play with toys when there are expensive cameras, bottles of Wite-Out, and spring-loaded umbrellas to play with?

Perhaps parents should hide toys inside jewelry boxes and camera cases, underneath the seats of their automobiles, and behind refrigerators and couches.

Those parents could then showcase forbidden things like cameras, nail polish, and gold necklaces, inviting kids to investigate them.

Maybe the kids would push past those oh-so-obvious non-kid items to search out the toys secreted away in unlikely places.

But, probably not.

Reverse psychology rarely works with kids.

I tried it more than once.

“One of these days,” I said to my seven-year-old, “you’ll be big enough to help Mommy pick green beans, but you’re still too little for such an important job. I guess I’ll have to pick the beans by myself.”

The named seven-year-old, of course, ignored me and continued fashioning a laser sword out of a hot dog roasting skewer and a full roll of aluminum foil.

Kid experiences like these are what cause old parents to sit in rocking chairs on their front porches, drooling, and picking fuzz balls off old, holey sweaters.

The Great Brush Off

Many nights I delay going to bed because I don’t want to brush my teeth.

I have my pajamas on, the house is locked up, I’m finished reading or watching television or playing Letter Garden on my tablet, and Dan has been snoring for half an hour. But I look around for something else to do so I can put off brushing my teeth.

I’ve never grown out of a childlike hatred of teeth brushing. I am a diligent brusher and flosser. Twice a day, every day. But I don’t like it.

I even bought a new electric toothbrush. It is a Quip brush, and I love it. Well, I love it as much as I can love a toothbrush. It’s kind of like loving a certain kind of scouring pad. I wish I had no need for one, but since I do, this is the one I want.

The minute I turn this toothbrush on, it starts tracking my brushing time. It beeps at 30-second intervals. After the fourth beep, I have brushed for a full two minutes, the brush turns itself off, and I am finished.

My teeth feel cleaner since I’ve been using this brush. The company sends me a new toothbrush head every three months, so I don’t need to remember to buy one. Everything about this brush is good.

Still, when the only thing left for me to do before going to bed is brush my teeth, I dawdle.

Going to bed without brushing is not an option.

Sometimes I persuade myself to brush BEFORE I put on my pajamas, lock the doors, finish watching TV, and tell Dan goodnight. When I follow this plan, going to bed is easy. I press the off button on the remote or the tablet, or close the book, and I’m done.

But when I follow that plan, I delay putting on my pajamas, locking the doors, finishing my TV watching, and telling Dan goodnight because, again, that toothbrushing step stands in my way.

Some nights Dan gets up to go to the bathroom or to get a drink and sees me wearing my pajamas and sitting idly in my recliner at midnight.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Then why don’t you go to bed?” he asks.

“I’m not ready yet,” I say.

He shrugs his shoulders, the same way he does when I tell him all the bills in my wallet must be turned the same way, in ascending value order, with all the Presidents’ heads facing up.

I see commercials claiming that chewing Orbit gum strengthens the teeth, chewing Trident gum helps prevent cavities, and chewing Mentos Pure White Sweet Mint gum whitens the teeth. Maybe I could just pop a threesome of these chewing gums into my mouth twice a day and make toothbrushing redundant.

But, I cringe at the thought of answering my dentist’s question: “Have you been brushing twice a day?” with “No, but I’ve been chewing lots of gum.”

It is getting late. Now that I’ve finished writing this blog post for the week, there really is nothing else for me to do.

I will give up, brush my teeth, and head for bed.

I won’t go to sleep though. I’ll lie awake, looking at the ceiling and dreading the coming of morning when, once again, I must brush my teeth.

YES, DEAR

Many people believe that in prehistoric times, men were hunters and women were gatherers.

Even today, in my wifely role, I consider myself to be the gatherer.

More than anything else, I gather information.

And it’s a good thing.

Were it not for me, Dan would be clueless about some very important facts about our grandchildren: their shoe sizes, for example; how many teeth the older ones have lost and how many new teeth the baby one has cut. He probably wouldn’t even know their birthstones.

Fortunately for him, he has me to keep him informed. Of course, being the gatherer I am, I also share information about our neighbors and friends.

But information doesn’t seem to be as important to Dan as it is to me. In fact, sometimes I suspect he isn’t even listening when I try to update him.

I can imagine Dan and me in the hunter/gatherer community of the Stone Age. He would be returning from a two-day hunt with the men after I had stayed in our cave community with the other women.

Upon his return, I would be eager to talk, and we would have a conversation something like the one below.

DAN = OOG; DEBBIE = AWK

AWK:    Hey, Oog, welcome home! Nice-looking deer you’ve got slung over your shoulders.

OOG:    Hey.

AWK:    Say, did you and the guys talk much on your trip?

OOG:    No, Awk. We were hunting.

AWK:   I know you were hunting, but I was hoping Cermook told you about the fight he and his wife had last week.

OOG:    They had a fight?

AWK:    You know they did. I told you about it. I heard them screaming at each other that night I was outside throwing rocks at the moon with the grandkids.

OOG:    You threw rocks at the moon with the grandkids?

AWK:   Of course! We always throw rocks at the moon when one of them makes the honor roll, and Kzu made the honor roll last semester.

OOG:    Kzu made the honor roll?

AWK:    You know he did. Snok made the honor roll, too.

OOG:    Who’s Snok?

AWK:    My niece.

OOG:    You have a niece?!

AWK:    So, what else did you guys do on your trip besides hunt?

OOG:    Nothing.

AWK:    Well, I kept busy here. I finally finished the necklace I’ve been working on. Remember? The one I made by stringing pine cones on grape vines?

OOG:    You’ve been working on a necklace?

AWK:   I would love to know what they were fighting about.

OOG:    Who?

AWK:   Cermook and his wife.

OOG:    They had a fight?

AWK:    I heard they fought because Cermook didn’t get a very warm welcome from his wife the last time he came home from a hunting trip.

OOG:    Hmmm.

AWK:    Don’t you want to know why Cermook didn’t get a very warm welcome from his wife the last time he came home from a hunting trip?

OOG:    Who didn’t give Cermook a warm welcome?

AWK:    His wife!

OOG:    Cermook’s married?!

AWK:   By the way, I helped Sontaag deliver her baby while you men were away.

OOG:    Sontaag was pregnant?

AWK:   Didn’t her husband talk about that on your hunting trip?

OOG:    No.

AWK:   Men! He probably hadn’t even noticed she was pregnant.

OOG:    Who hadn’t noticed who was pregnant?

AWK:   Forget it. Get cleaned up and take me down to Rocky’s Rhino Roadhouse for supper. That’ll give me a chance to show off my new necklace.

OOG:    You have a new necklace?

AWK:    Haven’t you been listening to me?

OOG:    Yes, dear.