Mea Culpa

           Nothing panics a woman like a lost purse. 

The other day I was at church, wandering about before the meeting began, chatting with friends. One of them wanted to set a date for a comical women’s night starring guess who. 

“Oh, let me grab my calendar,” I said. I use an old-school pocket daytimer, so I headed back to my pew to get it.  There it was, my black handbag. I sat down and opened it up.

But what was this—my wallet was missing? Oh, no—it probably fell out in the parking lot!  No calendar, either.  And a totally different lip balm—wait a second. 

 This wasn’t even my purse! Aghast, I hurriedly closed it up and put it back on the bench, then scurried two rows up to my real purse.  Meanwhile, my eyes were darting about to see who might own the decoy handbag. But nobody stepped up.

And I just want to apologize to whomever it is that owns Evidence Bag #1—I truly am sorry I went pawing through your purse. I just hope you don’t own a car that looks like mine and that I haven’t accidentally gotten inside that one as well.

With any luck, she was busy watching one of my Youtube Mom videos. I can only hope.

White Out

           You know that thing, where you buy a new car, and suddenly you see that same model car everywhere?

          Well, my variation on that is seeing cars the same color, and it’s causing me to get lost in a parking lot full of white cars.

          St. Bob loves to buy cars (mostly he loves to negotiate), but generally he gets me white ones. And this must be true of all other car buyers, because everywhere I go, this is what it looks like:

Or this, minus the ocean: 

          I honestly snapped this photo myself when I last went to Hobby Lobby:

          In a café, I overheard a woman say she was so embarrassed that she had tried to get into the wrong car, and I thought, Once?  You’ve only done this once?  I must do that once every two weeks!

          If someone followed me with a security camera they would probably call the cops because I appear to be trying to steal one vehicle after another.

          But it would really help if the rest of you would stop purchasing white cars and get a little adventurous with the colors.  Thank you.

Instead of buying white cars, how about staying home and watching my Youtube Mom videos?  (Though none are about how to solve the white car problem.)

Funny Bob

           It goes without saying that St. Bob is funny, so I’m saying it anyway. In just one day, he said the following:

          I throw my laundry basket downstairs and shout, “Incoming!” so he’ll know what the thud is.  Immediately he shouts back, “Missed me!”

         I can’t find him so I text “Where are you?” and he writes back, “Africa.”

                 I say, ‘You’re sure cute,” and he thinks I said, “You shut up.” So now autocorrect is a human thing?        

           Then I’m looking all over the house for a belt I’ve lost, can’t find it, and realize I’ve left it at the physical therapy office. Bob points out that it wasn’t lost; I was.

                 It’s lucky I don’t have to pay him by the word.

          Hey, another freebie is my Youtube Mom channel filled with hundreds of fun life hacks!

Joke Alarm?

          Let me tell you about that shrill whistle you hear. It’s my smoke alarm, and it goes off literally ANYTIME I cook.  Mind you, it’s not my cooking—well not every time-- although I imagine my neighbors wonder about that.

          Here’s the real story. It turns out you need a vent through the wall, to the outside of your home. In my case, I have a microwave oven above my stove, and was told it had a vent that would pull the stove’s steam up and away.

          This is an absolute lie. Sorry, but St. Bob recently gave a “presentation” as he called it, to a houseguest. He held a paper napkin under the microwave, where it appeared to be getting drawn towards the microwave.

          Then he held it above the microwave, and whaddayaknow—it fluttered, showing that the steam was coming right back out of the top!

          So we’ve been duped. Turns out boop-boopy doop is really spelled dupe. 

          To remedy our predicament and save our hearing, we must now hire a handyman to install an exterior vent.  At which point our neighbors will probably assume that I finally took cooking lessons.

          Did you know I have hundreds of Youtube Mom life hacks online? Who knows—maybe this microwave conspiracy will become one of them!

Talking Trash

          Last week I fell into a garbage can. There, that’s my story and I am literally sticking to it.

          I wish I could tell you it’s the first time this has happened. Alas, no. It’s the third time!

          I was pushing the (thankfully empty) can up the sloped driveway and suddenly it got away from me, the wheels rolling too far under, and the next thing I knew I had hit my head on the sticky interior, and my knees were banging on the concrete. I also got a massive bruise on one elbow.

          I was so dazed that I was unable to crawl backwards to get out quickly, but I didn’t want to stay in there until someone saw me. And, of course I worried that someone could even be videotaping this whole thing. Which neighbors have security cameras? Are they pointed this way?

          Eventually I backed out and sat up, surveying the neighborhood. The coast was clear. Whew! My head was throbbing and my knees were skinned, but otherwise no damage.

          Except to my ego.

           I may have cleaned up a bit for my latest Youtube Mom videos. Check 'em out!

Warehouse Where?

          Have you noticed that every cop or detective show thinks it has to involve a warehouse?  Not just a warehouse unrelated to the plot, but one with NO LOCKS. EVER.

          Yes indeed, these facilities are apparently wide open for anyone to hide in. They are always low in inventory, and always have plenty of room to walk around, yet not see where you’re going.

          No one ever thinks to turn on a light.  The cops and robbers both creep about in the shadows, guns drawn in case they literally stumble upon their enemy.

          Incredibly, the bad guys know where all these spacious beauties exist, as if they subscribe to “Hideouts Unlimited” or something. Yet the cops need their top tech people to pinpoint the same locations. 

Inside someone will be tied to a chair, which was apparently left there by the warehouse owners, again for no reason-- along with plenty of rope.

          Or, amazingly, a body will be stuffed into a barrel containing a miraculous amount of body-dissolving chemicals. Again, too heavy to transport, the barrel must have been thoughtfully left there by the warehouse owners.

And speaking of the owners, they never show up. I’m guessing they’re at home watching detective shows.

Instead, take a look at my Youtube Mom videos—tons of life hacks, but none about escaping from a mysterious warehouse.

Stunt Double

           I need a stunt double. Honestly, I could avoid so many injuries by not doing my own stunts. I seriously wonder how Tom Cruise does it.

          For one thing, I very much doubt that he has Dyspraxia, as I do. It means I’m clumsy, I bump into things that I don’t intend to (door jams, for example) and team sports are out of the question.

          Just in this blog alone, I have mentioned my occasional falling out of bed,

 

 my inability to high-five anyone,

 falling on the floor in class as I’m teaching Seminary,

and trying to mail a package at the Post Office.

          What can I say? Daily living gives me a lot of material. I’m just tired of doing my own stunts.

          You can see one or two of these in my Youtube Mom videos—there are hundreds of them online.