Like Adding Gasoline to the Fire

          Well, it had to happen. With all this social distancing, we’re texting and Zooming more than ever.  And this means the odds of sending a message before reviewing it have just gone up. You guessed it—we’ve added another dreadful auto-correct problem to our arsenal of embarrassing tech moments.

          This time Bob was dictating a text to his doctor’s office about a basal-cell spot on the side of his nose. And here is what they read:

          “I’m keeping gasoline on it for comfort.”

          Yep, and you thought you’d heard every old wives’ tale about cures and remedies.

          No sooner had he sent it along than he read it, cringed, and called the office where a woman, laughing hysterically, answered the phone. He explained  that he meant Vaseline and she understood.

          But I’m still betting that text went viral.

In between reading my books, check out this blog post about another horrendous text Bob sent to a law enforcement officer. But of course.

Attention Designers

         Someday we'll all being able to creep back outside, inch by inch, still wearing masks but tiptoeing out into the world again.

          And eventually this will mean shopping. I know many of you who are eager to peruse the latest summer fashions followed by the latest fall ones. And that means dress designers are going crazy cranking out clothes for you to buy.

          So I have a request of all these fashionistas: I would like bibs to come into style.

          Think about it. Everyone I know battles the drips and blobs that somehow land on our shirts, especially when eating out. Don’t tell me you’ve never spilled a single thing. Or, if this really is true for you, DO NOT TELL ME because then I will feel like a slob and an old lady. An old lady slob.

          Either way, I think bibs should be de rigueur, especially for people who use the phrase de rigueur. They could be designed to look like tuxedos, unisex Hawaiian shirts, wedding gowns—who cares? As long as they cover one’s torso.  Reversable, washable, maybe even with pockets to replace the purses we lug around. Why should babies have all the fun?

          And we will gladly buy them because they’ll be much cheaper than dry cleaning or replacing our cherished tops. Hey, if neckties—which have no practical purpose-- could catch on, surely the handy bib can become the next rage.

If you like to snack while reading, I won’t even mind if you spill on one of my books. Find those, and my Youtube Mom videos right here.

Hairy Times

          The quarantine has spawned a hilarious problem. At least I find it hilarious: Roots.  Salons are closed and women are discovering just what color their hair really is.

          In my case, it’s been a double whammy because chemo changed my natural color from dark blonde to brown.  So when I tried to color it using my old formula, it turned auburn.  Hair stylists to the rescue, I became blonde again. BUT… then COVID-19 happened, salons closed, and now I look like I’m trying to be young and hip with light hair and dark roots.

          Yes, I know this is “in,” but I’d rather be out. At least on this matter.  And I get zero sympathy from St. Bob because a few years ago I convinced him to touch up his own graying areas and it was an utter disaster.

          I should have snapped photos, or better yet, a video. First I thought we could cover his gray with a medium brown. Yikes. It turned dark, almost black.

After giggling until my eyes were watering, I ran to the beauty supply, came back, and lightened it up. Now it was red. Yikes. He was not pleased. And the more upset he became the more hilarious I found the situation.  

But I ran to the beauty supply again, came back, and colored it a third time.

          “Hatchet hair!” Bob shouted. “You’ve given me hatchet hair!” What on earth, I asked, is hatchet hair?

          Apparently there’s an old horror movie about an axe murderer with bright yellow hair.  I’m sorry, but sometimes you CANNOT keep from laughing.

          Three more times we tried to get his hair back to normal and finally, when it came out a shade of taupe, we called it a day. A very funny day from my perspective, a very aggravating day from his.

          And yes, now karma is biting me in the head.

While you stay sequestered, forget about your hair. Just curl up with one of my books, or watch a bunch of my short Youtube Mom videos here.

How to Turn Ministering on its Head

          I’ve told you before that the LDS church does a really cool thing. We minister to each other by assignment. Each of us is given three or four (or more) people to watch over, visit every month, and basically just befriend. Ideally no one could ever fall through the cracks—we’d know if someone was sick, unemployed, struggling in any way, and then we can address it.

          For years we’ve had a couple of men who visited every month and who always asked if there was anything they could do for us. Mostly we chatted, and they always shared an uplifting spiritual message.

          And then, as things go, they got reassigned. BUT… one of them is so faithful and sincere that he still reaches out. And the other day, since he can’t come by during the quarantine, he sent this very sweet, innocent text:

          How are you guys doing?

          Rule #1: You never give St. Bob an opening line like that.  Here’s what Bob wrote back:

          This information is no longer available to you as you’re no longer our ministering brother. Your subscription expired. However, for a slight fee of $1,189.99 you can re-register to join in and get this information.

          Luckily, the guy knew Bob’s personality and wrote back that he was dying laughing. Welcome to my world, my brother.

Yes, St.  Bob shows up in several of my novels.  Many a fictional husband has been based on him. Check ‘em out!