lipstick

Saturday while walking downtown I saw a lady approaching with something bright red in her mouth. It wasn't until she was right up to me that I realized that bright red something in her mouth was actually her lipstick. She had full round lips and an unusually pale face. I smiled; it reminded me...

When I was a teenager, my friend Susan was going to introduce me to her nephew. I had grandiose ideas of him falling in love with me and sweeping me away to bliss-dom. Before he came over to her house, I brushed my hair and went through her enormous selection of lipsticks. Finding a light pink gloss, I applied it, confident I looked cute. When I heard him arrive I went into the living room for her to introduce us. With creased eyebrows Susan grimaced as she looked at me. Her nephew was noticably uninterested. I knew something wasn't right but hadn't a clue what it was.

The nephew left a few minutes later, clearly not swooning. When the door was closed behind him, Susan wasted no time turning to me and yelling, "What on earth were you thinking?"

I was totally in the dark and didn't know what I had done.

She yelled, "Your lips!! Why on earth did you do that?"

I ran to a mirror. My lips were as red as red gets and my skin was its usual pale color. I looked like a clown. I was horrified and grabbed the lipstick to show her.

Moments later she was howling. That light pink lip gloss I'd chosen was actually a "mood lipstick."

Chinese Food

Tonight we went out for Chinese food. Hannah passed off a piece of ginger beef that she thought looked "disgusting." That reminded me of something that happened to me about 10 years ago.

We had a Korean teenager living with us and Rachael and Hannah were both babies. After church one day we went to a Chinese buffet.

I asked Gordon to fix my plate as I stayed behind putting babies in high-chairs. Shortly he and HanEy returned with all of our plates. We prayed and began eating. Before long I came across what I was sure was an aborted baby's hand in my ginger beef. I was mortified -- stricken completely speechless. I sat 100% stunned, unable to even raise my head.

My mind was racing, computing dozens of scenarios. I knew I had stumbled onto serious criminal activity and was trying desperately to ascertain a working plan of how to handle this. I knew if I went to the proprietor with such I thing, he could grab it from me and destroy the evidence. I was thinking the logical thing to do was wrap it in a napkin and take it to a police station. Still I sat there very close to vomiting, unable to speak.

Aware of nothing but the horror in my plate, I slowly became conscious of laughter beside me. I looked up prepared to shatter any light mood that existed at the table. HanEy and Gordon were looking at me laughing. They were saying things like, "It's a chicken's foot," and "It's just a joke." They had no idea the horrifying images running through my head.

When I finally grasped what they were saying, that what I thought was an aborted baby's hand was actually a battered and fried chicken's foot, it was way too late to redeem the situation. I was sick to my stomach and very near tears.

I took one of the girls and went and sat in the car while they finished eating. I was so upset. Not by their joke, but by the horrible images that had just been in my head. My adrenaline was pumping as if I'd just witnessed a murder. I cried.

It was several years before I ate ginger beef again. We never went back to that restaurant which before that day had been considered a "special" place. And until tonight, I guess I've not thought of that most horrific image in several years.

Appaloosa

When Christopher was 4 or 5 we saw a bunch of horses on a ranch. He excitedly uprighted himself in the car to take in the view. He loved horses eventhough he wasn't terribly familiar with them.

Among the horses there was a black and white spotted one. Christopher yelled, "Woe look! There's a 101 Dalmation horse."

Taking the Bull by the Horns

As I've told before, I easily and regularly mix metaphors and cliches. Today I said one and Gordon's come-back really tickled me.

He and I were talking about how he'd reached a solution to a work problem. I responded with, "So you decided to take the ball by the horns?"

He replied, "Actually, I'm pretty committed to keeping my hands off horny balls."

Barbara Walters in Kabul

Barbara Walters of 20/20 did a story on gender roles in Kabul, Afghanistan, several years before the Afghan conflict. She noted that women customarily walked 5 paces behind their husbands.

She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind their husbands. From Miss Walter's vantage point, despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem to walk even further back behind their husbands and are happy to maintain the old custom.

Miss Walters approached one of the Afghani women and asked, "Why do you now seem happy with the old custom that you once tried so desperately to change?"

The woman looked Miss Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation,
said, "Land Mines."

staff appreciation

I've told you before that my part-time employer is less than desirable. There is little appreciation and affirmation to be had there. Last night though, we had a staff appreciation event. For 2 brief hours there were a few items I wanted that would be 70% off.

I told Gordon about the event and he quickly ascertained that I was about to ask for money. He said, "Staff appreciation night. Let me guess, you'll take all the appreciation you can get?"

I thought that was a very funny way of saying, "you want money, don't you?"

Minty Fresh Toilet

"All out of your regular toilet bowl cleaner? Try pouring 1/4 cup alcohol-based mouthwash into the bowl. Let it stand in the water for 1/2 hour, then swish with a toilet brush before flushing. The mouthwash will disinfect germs as it leaves your toilet bowl sparkling and clean."

I read this nifty trick this morning and considered running out that very moment to buy mouthwash to clean my toilets. NOT! Isn't mouthwash way more expensive than toilet bowl cleaner? Why in the world would someone do this? I'm a junkie for household hints, but this one's ridiculous.

Reading this reminded me of something from years ago. My friend Cathy bought a high dollar toilet cleaner and bragged and bragged about how great it was. I was talked into purchasing some of too. Where did she send me to buy this toilet bowl cleaner? The health food store. Everything at a health food store is expensive, and this was no exception. $19 (and this was 20 years ago). "But it only takes a squirt," she kept saying.

Health food stores make me nervous. They smell healthy in a dangerous sort of way. There are all kinds of things that I don't recognize, and it seems there's an oil for every kind of sexually transmitted disease, and that makes me paranoid that I might catch something while browsing through the soy beans and alfalfa sprouts.

At the health food store I was greeted by a nice lady who smelled weird. She wore dark black glasses with holes all over the lenses. The lenses weren't made of glass or see-through plastic. They were solid black plastic. I was puzzled by her glasses. As if she read my mind, she told me the glasses were going to help her eyesight by strengthening the eye muscles. "It takes some getting use to, but you eventually learn to see through all these little holes."

I got caught up in the store and all the "cures" it held that I forgot to ask the lady where the toilet cleaner was. I walked up and down the aisles studying the shelf goods and feeling healthier just by breathing in those spicy unidentifiable scents. I looked at prices too and that convinced me that I'd keep shopping at a regular store. I however felt like a pagan not buying something that made it look like I cared about my health. I picked up a cookbook - not your run-of-the-mill Good Housekeeping cookbook. (That evening I made a really boring potato soup and a carrot salad. Last time I used that cookbook as I recall.)

A near crippled man with sunken cheeks started toward me. He appeared to need this health food stuff a bit more than me. He was about 50 pounds underweight and he couldn't walk upright. I was taken aback when he asked if he could help me. I asked if he worked there. The "may I help you find something" should have been evidence enough of that, but this gentleman didn't look well enough to be working. However, he did work there, so I asked where the cleaning supplies were. He said they didn't carry cleaning supplies. I told him my friend had bought some toilet bowl cleaner there. At that, his eyes lit up. He knew what I was talking about. He shuffled (looked like painfully) back to the employees only section and came back holding a bottle just like Cathy's.

He came close to me like he had a secret to tell and asked if I knew how to use it. I took it from him and glanced at the bottle to see if there were directions. As I was doing that he whispered, "put a tablespoon in a glass of water and drink it first thing in the morning and do it again at bedtime."

I hesitated, then asked, "isn't this toilet cleaner?" He answered, "well we have to label it as toilet cleaner to get it into the country, but it's a body cleanser."

I took the stuff and let the crippled man and the woman with holey black glasses assume I was getting it to drink, but I never did. I used it to clean the toilet.

Potbelly Pig

Recently we had guests who were telling about their neighbor's intentions of getting a Vietnamese Potbelly Pig. I personally think that anyone who wants to have a pet pig in the house is a bit demented, but that's just my take on the subject. If someone wants a pet pig in the house, more power to them. I'll stick to dogs.

As my friend talked about this potbelly pig that might soon become her neighbor, I was reminded of my brief, but interesting, exposure to potbelly pigs. The girls, Gordon, and I were at a petting zoo. Because of my and the girls interest in petting zoos, we have been to quite a few. At this particular one, there were a couple potbelly pigs.

My city husband and kids didn't know I was familiar with pigs, so I was quite pleased when I had opportunity to show them a few of my piggy tricks.

I told them I knew how to make the pig go to sleep standing up and make him have a sleep-induced fall over. I always love to impress my kids and this was one of my moments in the sun.

I knelt down beside the pig and he and I got acquainted while I stroked him. Soon I was scratching the underside of his belly and telling them to watch closely. In no time, Mr Potbelly Pig was swaying back and forth with his eyes closed. Then, just as I predicted, he fell over. My family was awed by my hypnotic prowess.

I continued to rub his belly as my family stood mesmerized. Soon something began to emerge from Mr Potbelly's lower belly. We were all mildly horrified, as it looked like nothing we'd ever seen. I don't know quite how to say this, but Mr Potbelly's private part was out and it was shaped just like a cork screw. It looked like a black uncooked spiral noodle. Very gross and nasty looking, to say the least.

The kids let out horrified screams and ran away. Gordon and I stared, perplexed and speechless. Gordon got his wits back before me. Thoughtfully and slowly he articulated, "That gives a whole new meaning to screwing around."

Hallmark Cards

1. I always wanted to have someone to hold, someone to love. And now that you've come into my life...(Inside card) - I've changed my mind.

2. I must admit, you brought religion into my life...(Inside card) - I never believed in Hell until I met you.

3. As the days go by, I think how lucky I am...(Inside card) - That you're not here to ruin it for me.

4. Someday I hope to marry...(Inside card) - Someone other than you.

5. When we were together, you said you'd die for me...(Inside card) - Now that we've broken up, I think it's time to keep your promise.

6. We've been friends for a very long time...(Inside card) - What do you say we stop?

7. I'm so miserable without you...(Inside card) - It's almost like you're still here.

8. Congratulations on your new bundle of joy...(Inside card) - Did you ever find out who the father is?

9. You are such a good friend. If we were on a sinking ship and there was only one life jacket...(Inside card) - I'd miss you terribly and think of you often.

10. Looking back over the years we've been together, I can help but wonder...(Inside card) - What was I thinking?

Kipp and Kim

As you may have guessed, I've discovered youtube. The problem is, there are lots of funny things but they seem to all have something crude in it. I don't do crude, well, not usually. But I wanted to share this one because there is someone this guy reminds me of. Can any of my family members (who know my family members) identify who this guy reminds me of. Now, mind you, my family member is much smarter, he just has a similar sense of humor. Humor me. Tell me who this guy reminds me of.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1KFY3Lz5KAA&NR

A Birthday Photo

Anyone who knows me knows how self-conscious I am about having my picture taken. But someone wanted to see a birthday picture. Gordon took me out for a nice dinner tonight and then we went dancing. I guess that explains the stringy hair. It's not very flattering, I know. In person I'm much better, really I am. It really embarrasses me to post such a blurry, unflattering picture. Beggars can't be choosers, eh?

The Fruitcake Lady

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbM7r7bien8

This site is hilarious, but admittedly it has some language and attitude. But it's funny. I hope you enjoy. If you do, leave me a note.

Houston, We Have A Problem

Poor Lisa Novak. It could've been me. I've done some really stupid things. I feel sorry for her and today thought repeatedly: Thank God I've never been in space. For if I'd ever been in space, my own foibles would have by now made international news. This, in and of itself, makes me very content to keep my feet on planet earth.

NASA plans to review their psychological screening program. Reading about that, I recalled a conversation I had with 2 pilots years ago. I was driving them from my hometown to catch a flight 90 minutes away. (This was a little job I did occasionally for my ex-husband's business).

Being in a car with 2 men you don't know can be a little strained, but these particular men were good conversationalist and funny too.

Evidently to fly for commercial airlines, one has to pass some pretty intense psychological screening. I do not remember all the details of their story, but I remember a few that tickled me and hopefully in the process of telling those, I won't totally screw up on the peripheral details.

These men told of psychological screening by a panel of persons that bordered on trying to make you insane. I guess the idea was if they succeeded in making you insane, you weren't fit for the job. One told of being screened for a couple days with grossly invasive questions. Have you ever had sex with your sister, mother, father, and other disgusting things like that. But this panel didn't just ask it once, they asked it over the course of days in varied ways. Can't you see why some folks (me) would break under the pressure of them trying to trap you in a lie. The panel had no sense of humor. In these screening times, humor was totally out of bounds. (Another reason I'd flunk).

After hours and hours of these questions, he started to crack, but the questions continued. "Have you ever had sex with an animal?," they asked. He said he stared at the panel and their stern faces and thought, what the hell. Then he answered, "Dead or alive?"

The panel was not impressed. "Have you had sex with an animal?," they repeated.

Sounding like a sheep, he replied, "That's baaaaa -d."

He did not get the job.

Ejecting Tables

Many years ago I got acquainted and spent some time with a lady. Her name was Beverly and she had a great personality and sense of humor. But she had a horrible problem with mixing metaphors and getting her cliches all bungled up. Now mind you, I didn't know her well enough to help her out with this, I never even told her she did it. It was quite a problem for her. She did it every time I was around her.

Well once I made fun of her to my sister Diane. Diane knew Beverly too so I pointed out this fault in great detail. Presently I can't think of any of Beverly's blundering cliches, but just to give a couple of ideas of things she might have said; "You gotta think outside the circle," "American as blueberry pie," "low man on the pecking order." Do you get the idea? Well, I thought it was a hoot and I hooted it up telling Diane all these things poor Beverly had said.

One does reap what one sows. (Bev might have said, "what goes around you reap.") God is my witness, and Diane is too, that the very next day after I made fun of Bev, I was stricken with this weakness. It has been at least 15 years since I knew Beverly, but I am here to tell you, that since that day, I've had trouble with cliches, euphemisms, and words. Now you might not know that because you READ me and don't hear me speaking. But when I speak, I'm much more likely to do it. I often use the wrong words, mix up cliches, etc, etc.

Last week I did this at work. I've recovered enough to tell about it now. But at the time, or shortly thereafter because at the time I didn't realize what I'd said, I thought I would expire in bright red fashion.

A bit of background: I have told how disorganized, crowded and sometimes chaotic my work place is. There is an inside joke among the ladies I work with about exploding tables, angry tables, and a few more things of that nature. By these expressions they really mean that the table is too full - a common problem with our tables - and that its contents just went onto the floor.

Last week two hoity-toity type ladies bumped a table just so and sent its bolts of fabric all over the floor. One of my colleagues might have labeled that as an exploding table. I try to avoid being such a follower and come up with my own word pictures. What I meant to draw with my word picture, be it poor as it was, was a cd player spitting out its cd. The word I meant was eject. I know, it's a stupid word picture. (But give me some credit I am not a follower.)

So the two up-tight ladies bumped the table and plumf, plumf, plumf, the contents began to descend. When the falling had ceased they made irritated sighs as if to say, "you stupid people who cram these bolts so tight...." I totally empathise with the sentiment, because I think the exact same thing. The way I deflect people's anger before they lash out it to make a big do. "Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it. It happens all the time. yada, yada, yada." In this particular instance, I saw their irritation and wanted to draw a word picture quick before they said something rude.

What did I say????

"There goes our ejaculating table."

They looked at me like I'd just talked dirty. I realized what I'd said about 7 minutes later as I was cleaning up the bolts of fabric.

Anger Management

Yesterday I witnessed a tiny episode of road rage. One driver yelled at another, then they yelled back and forth and exchanged gestures. It went through my mind that they both needed therapy and that led to another thought.

After Gordon and I married, I think I've expressed before, I had numerous anger issues. NUMEROUS. (This is a totally different story, but once I was talking to a car dealer and he gave me such a load of phooey. As he phooeycised I grew increasingly annoyed. Very calmly, not trying to be funny or threatening, rather plain ole matter-of-fact, I said, "You're feeding me a load of crap, and I think it's important that you know I have anger issues.")

Back to my original story. When we were first married I worked at a hospital. I was new to the culture, new to everything, and suffering from anger issues. But, to my credit, I was aware that I wasn't quite right and that the level of anger I had was not normal.

Working at the hospital, I'd occasionally see posters for anger management classes. I mulled it over for awhile and decided that was what I needed. I learned that enrolling in the class wasn't just signing on a dotted line. I had to have a referral. That really should have tipped me off a bit, but like I said, the whole culture was new to me.

I spoke to a psychiatrist who worked at the hospital and was friends with Gordon. He gave me the referral and I started anger management classes every Tuesday morning.

Right off the bat I knew something wasn't quite right. I looked a little more together than my classmates. We started the class with a "few housekeeping details." I'd never heard that phrase before, and quickly thought they were about to assign chores: "Bill you bring cookies next week, Valerie you tidy after class..." Moments into the housekeeping details, I twigged in that the phrase meant "the rules of the class." Well, rule number one was no hitting. I had anger issues but I never thought about hitting my classmates. The second rule was not to ask another why they were there. Unfortunately, the rest of the rules went over my head. I was still stuck on "no hitting" and "duh, we're all here because we're angry." I thought rule 2 was pretty stupid.

I studied my classmates and wondered what their "anger issues" looked like. I was really pumped after my first class thinking this was really going to help me lots. I chuckled lots in class and knew that was good for me. And I had lots of colorful stories to tell Gordon when class was over. Yes, this was a good thing.

One fellow in class used the phrase, "my own strength scares me." I thought that was hilarious and I used it all the time for weeks.

Week 2, 3, and 4 indeed gave me lots of chuckles, lots of colorful stories, even stories that embarrassed me to sit through. I think it was around week 4 that I started figuring things out a little. No one has ever accused me of being the sharpest tool in the shed, it's true. But for the life of me, I was totally naive and unaware of who my classmates were. I would get the tiny flash of light where I'd think something like, he's a criminal, but never anything to really hang my hat on.

During bathroom break one class, the man sitting beside me (in class, not in the bathroom) asked what I'd "done." It went right over my head. I surely looked like it had gone over my head, because he said, "yeah, rule 2, no asking what you did." Dense, that is what I am. I thought, this is a really weird conversation but still I didn't really get it.

Back in class, my friend right beside me, who had just asked me what I'd done, called me Miss Goody Two-Shoes. The class facilitators chided him for calling me a name.

The guy across the table slammed both hands down on the table and said, "You know the best feeling in the world is having an orgasm at the exact same time as your lover." He looked at me and said, "Don't you think?"

My upbringing forbade me to answer. I honestly don't know what I was feeling or thinking. Perhaps I was simply trying to have a poker face. I really can't remember. He hit the table again and said, "well, don't you think?" We stared at each other while the class stared at us both. Time stood still.

"WELL HAS IT NEVER HAPPENED TO YOU?" he bellowed, hitting the table again. This time I was aware that the conversation had taken a sour turn. I meekly said, "yeah, I guess."

"YOU GUESS WHAT?" he asked. Thank God, at this moment, the facilitator took control of the class and explained, "Some people don't feel comfortable talking about sex with people of the opposite sex." I sat there stunned and embarrassed wondering what the conversation that had just transpired had to do with anger management, or anything else for that matter. But I was about to learn that sexual desire is strongly linked to anger. Don't ask me how, I totally "checked out" for that discussion.

Things in my group were steadily growing more uncomfortable for me. One facilitator was a fruitcake and had more issues than I had. When I asked a question, she snapped my head off for my stupidity. (I once asked her a "why" question and she about blew up. "Don't ever ask a why question?" I did the unthinkable, and asked, "why not?" She answered, and I am not lying, "because why is followed by x, y, and z." I have no clue what she meant, but like I said, she was a fruitcake.)

One by one my classmates were opening up about what they'd done. None too quickly I realized that everyone in that room except me (and the facilitators) were there by a judge's order and as a result of some crime, anger induced crime I'm guessing. But it's just a guess. I'm not too bright on those things.

Anger Management classes didn't turn out to be all that helpful for me. I think I dropped out around week 5.

Cabbage Problems

Earlier in the week one of our meals had cabbage as the main ingredient. Cabbage produces copious amounts of gas. At one point Gordon said, "I think we'd better turn off all the pilot lights before we blow this place up."

My New Toy

I am a bad girl. I say stupid stuff to be funny all the time, and sometimes it backfires in ways that are less than pleasant. Happened today, a prime example.

I got a virtual spa for Christmas and have been living in the lap of luxury for a couple days. I sit in my leather recliner with my new body length massager and smile as the massaging waves move from my neck to my calves. I do not mean to sound erotic, but more than a couple jokes have been made about this new "toy." I also have a new fountain. So I lay on my massager, smiling and listening to my fountain, basking in the peaceful, feel-good experience. Within the confines of my own house, I have affectionately dubbed my massager, my vibrator. This was met with chuckles from my husband and mother-in-law, but my kids didn't get the joke, thankfully.

Today I was enjoying my massaging paradise, listening to my fountain gurgle, smiling as the sun cast its warm favor on my face when the dogs began to bark, alerting me that someone was approaching. I stretched upright and see all the tell-tell signs that approaching visitor was a solicitor. Solicitors annoy me. I maintain if I want to give money to a cause, I'll happily give it, and in which case I will seek out said cause without making them come to my door catching me with no money at my least convenient moment.

I get solicitors frequently and I abhor the exercise. I am nice, I am not one of those horrible people that scream and slam doors in the faces of solicitors. I do however, get annoyed with them. So much so, I have a NO SOLICITING sign on my front door. It gets no respect. They still ring my doorbell unapologetically.

My girls are somewhat savvy in getting rid of solicitors with a little admonition. Today when the dogs started their howling, Rachael came to the living room to look out the window to see who was approaching. I let out my ever so frequent and predictable, "Tell them no thank you and that you mother is unavailable." In the past, this has served me well.

I closed my eyes to try to recapture the massage salon mood, trying to block out the small talk at the front door. Hearing Rachael politely say, "I'm sorry but we're not interested," was when my smile returned. She very capably was handling the situation. I knew they would be on the merry way, and I was proud of my Rachael for her ability to send them on in kindness.

I drew my breath in exasperation when I heard the young gentleman ask her if her mother was home. Knowing this makes Rachael uncomfortable when pressed like this, I waited to see if she needed me to "rescue" her from the pushy solicitor.

With stoic reserve Rachael said, "I'm sorry she isn't available. She's on her vibrator."

A Christian Affair?

If you read this blog, you may have already deduced that I grew up in a Christian fundamentalist home. (Recently I heard someone say that radical Christian fundamentalism is no less dangerous than radical Islamic fundamentalism. I've been chewing on that and I've decided I agree.)

To share a story that reveals some of the fundamentalism still flowing through the bloodlines, I want to share a line from my niece. Mind you, it was all a joke, but it's a joke only someone with fundamentalist exposure would make.

We learned about a person we know who was having an affair. It was a sad story, and we were all deeply sobered by it. But we, as dysfunctional as it may be, sooth our pain with laughter. As we learned the few sordid details that were told, we were all on brief downers.

My niece Misty knew just how to bring us out of the funk that had descended. "You know it's not even like he's having an affair with a good Christian girl. Think about it. If they get married they will be unequally yoked."

Boxing Day

Today is Boxing Day. Every country settled by the English, except the US, celebrates Boxing Day. I had never heard of Boxing Day till I met Gordon. But now I recognize it nearly with as much celebratory gusto as Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Boxing Day originated in England and some say it was the day that servants were given off. They worked Christmas Day, but were given a boxed gift from their employers on the day after Christmas. Hence the name, Boxing Day.

Another theory is that it's the day that people gave boxed gifts to those who had served them throughout the year; postal workers, milk men, porters, etc.

The tried and true facts, I really don't know. But Boxing Day, December 26, is a holiday up here.

Today we had our big Christmas meal. Gordon's mother joined us. It's been a really good day. We think we are onto a Christmas rhythm that we want to remember for the future. It's been one of the most relaxing, deeply fulfilling Christmases I can remember. Blissfully low key, yet totally satisfying.

I did a serious no-no though. Unknowingly, I dealt my family grief. Here's how. I have never ever bought Stove Top Stuffing. But I've been served Stove Top quite a few times and have grown accustomed to it and even kind of like it. I always make cornbread dressing, all from scratch. I didn't realize till today that my family is committed to the Southern style of dressing.

The trouble started when the kids came from the pantry wanting to know why we had Stove Top boxes. I told them they were on sale 50% off and I thought, Heck, why not. No one will care and it will make my day lots easier. The groaned like I told them we drinking strychnine for cocktails.

Later Gordon was on the phone to our friends in Calgary who are coming to Edmonton tomorrow. Gordon was telling them we would eat leftovers tomorrow. "Valerie makes this cornbread dressing like you wouldn't believe..."

At this point, much too late to start the cornbread dressing, I realized, Oh shoot, it really does matter to my family. So with shame, I served my Stove Top Stuffing. I really felt like a cheater. The time and effort saved were not worth it.

As we hashed all this over at the table, I remembered a conversation I had with my family when I was in Arkansas recently. We were discussing dressing and how it comes in two versions: Yankee and Southern. We discussed our tastes, all of us, being from the South, agreed that Southern dressing is the only way to go. I however told them I had had some good Yankee (Northern) dressing.

My brother mockingly rebuked me for my lack of loyalty. He sighed and said, "Valerie, there was a war fought for this cause."

(Just in case you don't get it, he was joking that the Civil War was about Northern versus Southern Dressing.)

Hemmies

When I was growing up, my family was kind of rigid and uptight in matters relating to anatomy and bodily functions. I vowed (and carried out successfully) that I would create a much different environment in my grown-up home.

Some have asked what we called "those" things. Those who ask that clearly don't understand what I mean. We didn't talk about those things, therefore we didn't have to name anything.
We did however make references to elimination. "Use it," was short for use the bathroom. So when we needed to "go," we said, "I need to use it." That said it all.

(On a side note, once I was at my Granny's when she was encountering plumbing difficulties. I told Granny I needed to "use it." She was troubled as she didn't want me using the facilities before the plumber came. She asked me if it was my kidneys or bowels that needed to move. I was mortified that we were having this conversation. Firstly, I didn't know the difference between the two, secondly, it wasn't supposed to be discussed beyond saying, "I need to use it.")

We weren't so terribly uptight that the men in the family couldn't fart. Females however, went to private places to do that. "Fart" was a cuss word, so we called that function, "let one." For instance: "Oh gross, Daddy let one."

You would be forgiven for wondering why on earth I'm telling these things. It's because I want to tell a conversation that happened when I was in Arkansas. To appreciate it to its fullest, one must recognize "from which we've come." Believe me, the following conversation would never ever ever have happened years ago.

Because of the sensitive subject matter, (pun intended), I will give all the characters aliases to preserve their dignity. Now to the intended story:

One day quite a few of us were sitting in my mother's living room when a relative, Joni, walked in. Having recently had a colonoscopy, she was stricken with painful hemorrhoids -- not something most people cared to know. Evidently there comes a time in suffering when you just quit caring what people think. Joni had reached that point.

Having not recently seen Joni, Tommy, (remember everyone is bearing an alias in this story), quickly engaged in conversation. Innocently enough, he asked how she was doing. Well that was all she needed to open up. "Lord have mercy! Have you ever had hemorrhoids?" she blurted.

Tommy and Joni fixed eyes; clearly he was elated to meet a fellow sufferer. "I can tell you about hemorrhoids," he chimed.

"Next time anyone suggest I have a colonoscopy, I'll be quick to tell them, 'no thanks,'" she said. She quickly rose from her chair. As she headed determinedly toward the bathroom, she said apologetically, "ya'll excuse me. I've gotta go scratch."

Indeed we were aghast with the level of openness. What we didn't know was that another sufferer was about to come out of the closet.

When Joni walked back into the living room, Fred joined the conversation. Rubbing his thumb and fingers together to illustrate, he suggested that massaging the hemorrhoids with Vaseline would ease the itch.

The three of them engaged in details of their afflictions. Tommy, determined his were by far worse than any one else's, said, "I've had hemorrhoids so bad I had to wear a jock strap backwards." The grossed out family erupted into gales of laughter, knowing he was more than a bit exaggerating.

Fred was quite confident that his were still worse. "I've used enough Preparation H to slide from here to Dallas," he unashamedly confessed.

As they discussed their woes, I admit I had a little offering. Once to prepare me for surgery, I was given some medication that had the most grievous side affect. Specifically, it attempted to turn me inside out. As they bantered about who was the worst afflicted, I put in my week's worth of sorrow. I told my story, but since you know who I am, I'll refrain from the details. My problem was short-lived, but I joined with Joni in claiming if they ever tried to put me on that medication again, I'd protest.

In this 15 minute conversation, I learned a wealth of grossly funny information. Loved ones have suffered in silence for years, but finally the walls were coming down.

Fred went on to tell a well kept secret. His problem was so bad he had had surgery. He made us acutely aware that we didn't want to go that route. "I'm telling you, first time I went to the bathroom after my surgery, I swear, I thought I was crapping a freight train."

As these stories were shared, we were grossed out, yet thoroughly entertained too. There was still another sufferer about to walk into the light. Actually he didn't walk into the light, his child exposed him. He too had had hemorrhoids so badly he had had surgery. She told that Barry was so uptight and tense for his surgery that they had to bring in extra nurses to hold his butt cheeks apart. Again, the laughter erupted.

So if you're a sufferer -- they are certainly more common than I ever knew -- having heard enlightening details on the subject, I say sincerely from the bottom of my heart, I'm so glad it's you and not me.