So I was sitting at work the other day, simultaneously arranging for travel, formatting a document I had moved from Word to Excel, and knitting myself an afghan (not an Afghani – and ooh, boy, if you’ve ever made that mistake you know why I double-check those directions now!) when I realized that the whole world depends on me.
Hard to believe, isn’t it? The whole world!
And yet there it is. For some reason, I – and you and you and you, it seems – have drawn the short straws here and will be required to toil until just moments before our deaths.
Now how in the wide, wide world of sports do you suppose that happened?
Was it because of Senior Skip Day, all those years ago? My mom said nothing good would come of it. Is this what she meant?
Was it because I laughed – hysterically, true, but I laughed – at a relative’s funeral? I didn’t want to! I bit the inside of my mouth until it bled, but I couldn’t stop; and worse yet, it caused my sister to join in. We hung our heads, hoping our jerking shoulders would lead those around us to believe we were sobbing, but it didn’t fool our aunt, who turned around and whispered, smiling, “I know what you’re doing”, which led us to both laugh and burn with shame at the same time.
Was it because I ate the recommended limit of sugar-free dark chocolates the other day, risking a testing of the sugar-free-chocolate-as-laxative theory I’ve been hearing so much about lately?
For whatever reason, the weight of the world is upon my freckled shoulders again.
So is there anything I can get you, while I’m up? I’ve got India on hold with questions on Outlook, Wisconsin is drunk and threatening to come over with laundry – and you just know we’ll be up all night – and some guy in Texas wants to fight because he thinks I took his coat but he didn’t even have a coat when he came in, so I don’t know what he’s talking about…
Sigh.
Application pending
1 hour ago
.jpg)
30 comments:
Remember way back? No way backer than that. A tad more back. Yea somewhere around there.
Remember they threatened it would all go on our permanent record? They let us graduate thinking we got out free and clear but somewhere stored in an old cob webbed building or "so called friends memory"(funny how they forget they owe you lunch money but can remember that one thing you did) is stored your permanent record which it seems can be accessed quicker than your driving record at license check.
Well there ya go. Now get back to scubbing the laundry and I'll get back to working off my permanent record whoas.
!@#$i!*&!! I just knew my teenage years would come back to haunt me!
Thanks for clarifying the afghan versus afghani part. I was almost lost for a minute.
Oilfield, :-)
I could use a J-bunny while you're up. The one that looks like Velma and works at the local yakitori restaurant will do.
Wise not to knit Afghanis. I bet you only make that mistake once.
It's nice to know the world depends on you now, rather than me. I'M FREE!!!!
- Jazz
This one time my mom begged me to go to a Mormon baby blessing of her nieces baby. I went. We sat in the very back. Laughing. And like you laughed at the Funeral, that’s how we laughed. Heads down and shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
What do ya do though?
Sigh.
Sometimes a girls just gotta laugh or she'll explode and I've heard that's not a pretty sight! Heeehehehe!
Join the crowd of inappropriate laughter but I hope a whole slew of people give me laughter for a send off!
God bless and have a fantastic week!!! :o)
I am thinking about those freckled shoulders. I don't want. Faye doesn't want me to. I shouldn't. But I am.
I am stuck in South America.
The men are gorgeous but we can't understand each other.
Good thing I am married to a man who speaks my language.
I laughed at a funeral once. My mom hit me when we left.
(I don't have a very nice mom)
Do I sound pathetic enough ???
So do we have to wait until we get a Social Security check (yeah like that will every happen) to take another Senior Skip Day? I know I'm getting real irritated with being the only one around here doing Idaho's laundry. Let 'em all wear crusty underwear for a day or two...I'm going to look for a sunny beach.
I'm not drunk (yet), but am threatening to come over with my laundry and work....you could definitely do some of that for me. My husband once told a larger man at a funeral to "Stay out of shape". He meant to say "stay out of trouble". :)
I totally saw you take that guy's coat, btw. ;)
Wait a minute...weddings are happy occasions - yet there's always someone crying - right? I think a good belly laugh at a funeral helps relieve a lot of tension, if you ask me. Now, if you show up wearing a clown outfit and wearing a red rubber nose - well, you might be asking for trouble, unless it's Ronald McDonald's funeral...then that would be proper attire.
;-)
Is that where I went wrong? In my teen years? *sigh* I do believe so. Maybe if I had reached "my full potential" I wouldn't be in this position. But I have a sneaky feeling that even if I had I would still be here carrying the weight.
It's kind of you to take responsibility for all my stuff too. Could you do the ironing and dusting while you're at it please?
like eww sugar-free chocolate that isn't even worth the effort i want the real choclate with real sugar and fat in it.
Hey Pearl! Thanks for dropping by my little corner of blogworld. I look forward to diving into yours. I'm so glad everything is your responsibility now. I think I'll skip classes and stay home sipping margaritas tomorrow!
Yup, me too. Laughed at a funeral. Felt horrible. It was like a Seinfeld episode.
I am also feeling the weight of the world right now. If you are willing to share.
And remember all of the "or else!" threats you received as a kid. Guess this might be the else.
I'm so glad I haven't been binging on sugar-free chocolate!
Laughing at a funeral..the worst! And so damn uncontrollable. I attended a funeral some years ago and was struck by how much the Jesus on the banner above the altar looked like he was poised and ready to perform the showstopping "One" from "A Chorus Line" I, of course, shared this with my pewmate ( total stranger) and we both were wracked with fits of hysteria. Afterwards I apologized but she said it was not necessary, "she needed a good laugh", she was the deceased's Aunt.
I can send you some of Oklahoma's laundry. You could also come vacuum some Oklahoma carpet, since the belt on my vacuum seems to be broken.
Oddly enough those are the same exact questions I've been asking myself ever since becoming a parent. When will this crazy ride end? ;-)
I think it's senior skip day. Or that time you did that thing that you shouldn't have... you know.
Pissing of a Texan is nothing compared to the anger of a knitted afghani!
A great and hilarious post!
Oh, Pearlie. You haven't sinned until you have laughed uncontrollably (almost) at YOUR OWN FATHER'S FUNERAL. But HE would have found it funny, too. He had been in the Navy, and was a member of the Royal Canadian Legion and the older-than-Methusela Legion chaplain was reading from the prescribed service and when he got to the part with the blank where you fill in the name of the dearly departed, he called him GEORGE. My father's name was WALTER. Thankfully, when all the Legion members crowded into the room, my best friend and I got shoved to the back (I doubt they were aware there WAS a family. I'm not entirely certain they knew the war was over. But I was sure glad I wasn't at the front.. Anyhoo, he said the wrong name and Harriet and I started that silent church laugh. We leaned up against each other and just heaved in silent laughter. We had no sooner got ourselves under control, when we spied the second spot in the service where the dearly departed's name had to be inserted. I whispered to her, "If he calls Dad George again, you're going to have to carry me out of here." And then we started laughing in anticipation. But someone must have whispered to the chaplain or passed him a note or something, because he got it right the second time. Good thing, too. You're supposed to carried into your own wake, not out of someone else's.
As for the coat. You can have my coat. But don't touch my hat.
I thought you'd never ask. You don't need to do all of my laundry, half the pile done, would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks.
PS. And yes, it is all up to you. Good job you're so good at it.
I got the giggles at a wedding. They opened with an excerpt from the Book of Mark (I think) that is the famous Sermon on the Mount part. When they got to "blessed are the peacemakers", I couldn't stop thinking about "blessed are the cheesemakers" from Monty Python's Life of Brian, I nearly wet myself when we got to "blessed are the meek", and sat in mouth-twisting agony for a good ten minutes trying not to guffaw. I couldn't even shudder, as you're not supposed to cry like THAT at a wedding.
The daddy slipped into Pearls place and made sure the heating was working properly. In the kitchen he chopped the vegetables and prepared the chicken.
He then knocked up a quick sweet and sour sauce and selected a range of pick-me-up herbs.
A whisky and coke was set on the little table next to the sofa and Pearls slippers were warmed up ready for her return.
As the chicken sizzled, the daddy threw in the vegetables and the herbs then stirred slowly as the sauce was poured over the top.
The rice (10 minute boil in the bag WallMart cheap stuff) was already simmering nicely.
Hearing Pearls key in the door, the Daddy slipped out through the bathroom window (hoping that he wasn't on the second or third floor) and escaped unnoticed into the darkness.
You see Pearl, we don't all depend on ya, but we all loves ya!
Enjoy your meal!
Hmm... since you offered, I've been worried lately about the recent troubles with a highly secretive, belligerent, and unpredictable nuclear armed state.
Can you see what you can do to defuse tensions with North Dakota?
Post a Comment