Tag Archives: Humor

The Baby’s Crowning!!!

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The Prompt: Next in Line—A second #RoyalBaby will soon be joining the Windsors in England. Given the choice, would you rather be heir to the throne, or the (probably) off-the-hook sibling?

 
The Baby’s Crowning!!!!

Knit a little baby hat for his royal crown.
Put it on his tiny head and pull it firmly down.
He might as well get ready for the pressures of this hat
instead of one he might have worn except for the fact that
his great grandmother has to die or perhaps abdicate
and then his grandpa Charles would have to meet with the same fate.
And then his dad and brother would have to bite the dust
and so perhaps you’ll realize why I remain nonplussed
over today’s question. Why is it moot to me?
Too many living predecessors on his family tree!

 

Interlude

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Disclaimer Notice:  This is a work of fiction, not of fact!!!!

Interlude

I have been dieting for months and I’m in fine fettle. I can see the admiring looks of several men as I enter the restaurant, along with the slightly irritated stares of their wives or girlfriends. I’m fresh from the beauty parlor: newly coiffed, manicured and pedicured, wearing a size smaller than I wore a month ago and several sizes smaller than a year ago. Feeling buff, I slide into a booth, fanning both hands over the smooth surface of the Formica table top, admiring my French manicure.

He enters the restaurant shortly after I do. Taking the long way around the aisle that runs between the tables in the center and the booths along the four sides, he scans the faces of diners with a curiosity that signals an interest in life. He is tall and intelligent-looking with a quirky doorknocker beard and mustache and a Hawaiian shirt—all elements of his appearance that call out for notice. I do not disappoint.

I watch him as he draws nearer, but drop my eyes as he approaches my booth. So it is that I am surprised when he stops in front of me and says, “May I ask you what you name is?”

I bring my eyes up to meet his. Is this the Cinderella story I’ve been waiting for my whole life? Quickly, my mind fills in the prior details. He noticed me on the road and followed me here. Or, he was driving by when he saw me enter the restaurant and, on a whim, seized the day and came in search of me. Or, this is an old and long-forgotten flame, someone from my past—a college or high school friend I haven’t seen for twenty years.

Without asking why or giving a smart answer, for once I merely answer the question. “Judy. Judy Dykstra-Brown,” I purr in a humorous, slightly sexy voice, not once looking away from his clear hazel eyes.

He does not disappoint. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says.

“I’ve been looking for you, too—for a very long time,” I answer in my best low flirtatious tone.

He reaches out toward me, and I extend my hand toward him as well; but in place of his own hand, he places something soft and warm in my palm.

“You must have dropped your wallet in the foyer,” he says to me, “You’re lucky that the right person found it.” He turns then and walks across the room to sit down at a table with a lovely woman in a white sundress and two darling tanned children. They are like a commercial for a Hawaiian vacation.

I open the wallet to see that all the money is intact, the driver’s license just slightly askew from where he must have withdrawn it to see the picture of its owner, and my mind replays his final words to me.  “You’re lucky.”

“Welcome to Perkins!” The waitress interrupts my thoughts in a perky voice, living up to the name of her place of employment. I take the menu she proffers and order humble pie.

The Prompt: Greetings, Stranger—You’re sitting at a café when a stranger approaches you. This person asks what your name is, and, for some reason, you reply. The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.” What happens next?

 

 

Green Brownies

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DSC07902

(This poem evolved from notes that I scribbled into the margin
of our Mexican Train score sheet while visiting my friend Gloria.)

Green Brownies

The brownie that she serves me
crumbles when I try to break it into two.
Her sense of humor allows it and so I tease her.
“Gloria, this looks like the kind of food
my grandmother tried to pawn off on us—
weeks old and crusty from the refrigerator.”

“Those chocolate chips were like that when I bought them!”
she insists, even before I question their green tinge.
I think that this is even worse than the alternative,
and say so and we both laugh as she eats her brownie
and I reduce mine to dust. Not a hard task, as it turns out.

She’s had a bad infection for a week or more.
“I’m not contagious,” she insists each time she coughs
a long low rasping rumble that threatens to avalanche.
“Now stop!” she tells the sounds that explode
without permission from her chest.

“Perhaps,” I say, “These brownies are a godsend
and that’s penicillin growing on the chocolate chips.”
Then her deep coughs transform into
gasps of laughter that echo mine.

The young man there to rake the garden
looks up at us and shakes his head
at two old ladies drinking rum and
eating something chocolate,
and it occurs to me that perhaps
what the world sees as senility
is simply evolution
out of adulthood
to a higher
stage.

The Prompt: Locked and Sealed.  Can you keep a secret? Have you ever — intentionally or not — spilled the beans (when you should’ve stayed quiet)?  Yes, I must admit that I regularly mine my life with friends and family for topics for my writing.  As a matter of fact, that’s pretty much all I write.  My friend Gloria, however, has no qualms about my writing about this occasion.  In fact,  she insisted I send it off immediately to a local magazine/newspaper whose editor may or may not find it as funny as she did.  With one exception, I’ve had just one friend object to this practice of writing about friends and family.  She has always refused to read anything I’ve written about her.  “You haven’t spilled any of my dirty little secrets, have you?” she says (no small amount of dread in her voice)  every time I tell her I’ve written about her. No, I never would.  The only dirty little secrets I ever reveal are my own!!!

Note:  So amusing that today’s prompt, “Locked and Sealed” takes its title seriously!!!  Its link does not work. For this reason, I’m posting today’s blog in yesterday’s topic and counting down the hours until they discover this.

“How good are you at keeping secrets? Today’s @postaday prompt is Locked and Sealed: wp.me/p23sd-njA 2 hours ago“—This is a quote from the WordPress site.  And yes, the prompt truly is locked and sealed.  9:08 and still, none of us can post on the site.  At least this time they posted the topic.  I imagine by now there are at least 80 bloggers straining at the prompt, ready to spring into action to post as soon as the link works.  To the starting gate, bloggers!

10:58  133 bloggers standing in line to post…still, no link. Locked and Sealed?  Is it April 1 by any chance?

Casting Reality

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The Prompt: Cast Change—You’ve just been named the casting director of your favorite television show (or movie franchise). The catch: you must replace the entire cast — with your friends and family. Who gets which role?

Casting Reality

Instead of casting TV shows with folks you’ll never know
I’d rather cast my life with actors from a TV show
that all of you have seen and so you’ll understand the jokes
better than if I had cast TV with common folks.

A lot of Grandpa Walton might go into making Dad—
plus one ounce of Archie Bunker (though he wasn’t half so bad).
He was a rugged rancher and an avid storyteller.
One day he’d recite Shakespeare and the other, he would beller
a song of mountain bootleggers or “Old Chief Buffalo Nickel,”
then construct towering sandwiches and top them with a pickle.
So I’d add some Leon Redbone and a bit of old Mark Twain,
a little bit of Dagwood and a whole lot of John Wayne.

Though my mother cooked and ironed, often with no thanks,
she also was a jokester who loved to think up pranks.
Though she was often zany, she wasn’t dumb at all—
a sort of Gracie Allen all mixed up with Lucille Ball.
Add some Cagney and some Lacey and a little Nancy Drew
and of another side of her you’ll start to get a clue.
She always loved a mystery and crossword puzzles, too—
and UFO’s and Halloween—things scary as a “Boo!!!”

Stacey London is the next to join my family cast.
“What Not To Wear”—the show that she has starred in in the past.
Her role of saying “No” to this one, then a “Yes” to that,
(as in, “That one makes you skinny, but in this one you look fat!”)
was just exactly how my sister used to talk to me.
That this skirt did not go with that was plain for her to see.
As an older sister, she was free with such advice;
but often loaned me her own clothes which, I admit, was nice.

Though my oldest sister Betty’s not accustomed to go last,
she’s the one last family member that there is for me to cast.
She was my boss from my first breath, as she was then eleven.
And if she could, she’d boss me still, though I am sixty-seven.
And so I try to figure out whom she would choose to play her.
And though I’d pick Bette Midler, maybe I should Doris Day her.
She was a singer and a blonde, so guess that she will do.
And now I’ve finished casting a whole film you’ll never view!

Stoned!!!

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Stoned

I don’t like enclosed spaces or rooms that are too small.
Elevators? Closets? Small caves?  I hate them all.
A cellar where no air moves is a place I won’t be found,
and can’t imagine spending days low beneath the ground!
I have a fear of smothering someplace where there’s no air,
so I won’t go spelunking, even on a dare.
And though I know gold jewelry’s expensive—nothing finer,
nobody would have any if I had to be the miner
who went below the ground to try to free it from the stone;
for if left up to me, I’d simply leave that gold alone.
I’ll remain above the ground in the sunshine and the breeze—
not venturing below the ground where sometimes when I sneeze,
the earth and stones might start to move and bury me alive,
streaming down around me like hornets from a hive.
So, no matter what the riches  that down there might be found,
I’ll spend my life in penury, here—above the ground!!!

The Prompt: Nightmare Job—In honor of Labor Day in North America, tell us what’s the one job you could never imagine yourself doing.

Mirror Fearer

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The Prompt: The Mirror Crack’d—You wake up one morning to a world without mirrors. How does your life — from your everyday routines to your perception of yourself — change?

 
Mirror Fearer

Every time I walk past it, I look into the glass
and notice how my hair looks and then survey my ass.
I cannot help but look at it, every time I pass—
criticizing how I look, both fuzziness and mass.
And in my deepest feelings, despite my brains and sass,
I can’t avoid this feeling that men must find me crass.
And so I guess I really feel that it would be a gas
if you took away the mirrors from this self-critiquing lass!

Skyping: (Long after Midnight and 4 Margaritas)

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The Prompt:  Pains and Gains—Do you agree with Jane Fonda’s favorite exercise motto, “no pain, no gain?”  Is it impossible to attain greatness without considerable hardship?

I think that it is possible to attain greatness without considerable hardship in that all the effort you go to to achieve what you achieve is often in an area where hard work becomes play.  I have sat up all night writing or doing art for most of my life  for the past thirty or more years and it wasn’t hardship because I loved doing it.  In fact, I was compelled to do so.  I’ll bet you anything that Jane Fonda enjoyed all that hard exercise.  I, on the other hand, prefer to exercise my hands typing on keyboards or maneuvering flex shafts or paint brushes!  And with my sort of exercise, an occasional Margarita doesn’t hurt!

Long after Midnight and 4 Margaritas:

She: What is the most dreaded disease of hockey players?
He.: i give
She: Chicken Pucks!!!
He: (facepalm emoticon)
She: What is the most dreaded disease of Narcissists?
He.: I give
She: Me-sles.
She: The most dread disease of martyrs? (Promise, last one.)
He: ?
She: You-rinary tract infections
He: (headbang emoticon)

Note: This Skype conversation actually occurred the same night as the 3 Margarita conversation posted yesterday; so no, I’m not drinking Margaritas every night.  Also, I mix very weak Margaritas, so they are not totally to blame for the silliness above.  Around one or two in the morning, my mind usually gets on a jag and the best way to deal with it is just to hang up on me, which happened soon after this string of unfortunate jokes.  Corny, but I still get a kick out of them.  Yes, they are all original.  I wouldn’t blame them on anyone but my own past-midnight mind.  Judy

On Skype (After Midnight and 3 Margaritas)

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The prompt:  Tell us about what happened the last time you were up early (or late…).

On Skype (After Midnight and 3 Margaritas)

She: maybe I need to take Frida (the Akita) to the snore doctor.
She: Perhaps she has sleep apnea. She sounds like a lion when she sleeps.
She: Have you ever heard her snore?
He: Yep.
She: Do you miss it?
He: Miss your zzzz’s
She: You miss my snores? Sweet.
She: I miss snoring for you.
He: That’s the first line of a poem.
She: I’ll write a poem starting with “I miss snoring for you,” if you will, too.
He.: I’ll try to remember to do so tomorrow.
She:
You Say You Miss My Snores

I miss snoring for you,
stepping on your shoe
when we don’t dance,
miss that glance
from your alternate self
you keep on a shelf
when you aren’t with me.
How can it be
that both of us choose
to leave our clues
in cyberspace
not face-to-face?
Alone together
with no tether,
our way
for today
perhaps forever
internetedly clever.

He: it just blows me away how you can come up with something like that, so achingly beautiful, in less than five minutes!
She: Ah. You inspire it.
He: I muse you whilst i amuse you
She: Ha. That is exactly it!
She: What you just said couldn’t have been said more succinctly or more briefly. It is the tweet
of poetry
She: sweet tweet of poetry—sweet bird of absurd

(After this, the conversation digressed.  No more shall be said.)

Update: “He” has written his version, as agreed. You can see it here.

The Listener

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The Listener

I was having a conversation with a friend in a restaurant many years ago when it became obvious to me that the woman at the next table was taking in everything we said. She had that waxy glaze in her eye and that unmoving stance that just signalled eavesdropping. When I ceased talking and fixed her with a steely stare, she started, blushed, and immediately admitted, “I really wasn’t trying to overhear your conversation. I just sort of over-listened.”

The Prompt: Head Turners—We often hear strange snippets of conversation as we walk through public spaces. When was the last time you overheard something so interesting, ridiculous, or disturbing you really wanted to know what it was all about?

Wise Thoughts Unsaid and Unremembered

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Wise Thoughts Unsaid and Unremembered

The perfect reply that I hadn’t yet thought of
but figured out later? I have had a lot of;
but the problem is that now they still can’t be gotten,
for though once I had them, I now have forgotten!

It’s true.  Great retorts are jewels in the crown,
but truer that one has to write them all down!
And it’s best that you write them down lickety-splickly,
for though they come slowly, they seem to go quickly!


The Prompt:  We’ve all had exchanges where we came up with the perfect reply—ten minutes too late. Tell us what it was, being sure to sign off with your grand slam unused zinger!