Bristling Over This One

           What kind of bristles does your toothbrush have? Soft? I knew it. This is because every dentist in the entire world recommends soft bristles. I think this unanimous opinion could stretch to the outer limits of the universe as well.

          So WHY DO TOOTHBRUSH MANUFACTURERS CONTINUE TO MAKE MEDIUM AND HARD BRISTLE?

          I cannot believe this is cost effective. Who is buying these broom-bristle products? Witches? Walruses? How many of them actually shop at drugstores?

          And yet, there the brushes are, hanging on the rack every time you go to purchase a new one.  Taking up space. Demanding their own bar code.

          I can’t fathom a sensible person tearing up their gums when dentists tell them not to. Rebellion can only go so far, you know? Self harm should be the limit.

          And that’s my two-cents-worth for the American Dental Association. You’re welcome.

          Hey, check out my YouTube Mom video here, about how to easily clean up your tube of toothpaste!

Your Name in Lights

 St. Bob’s name pops up everywhere.

 

          But the latest surprise appearance was in the SKY!  Clouds actually spelled out Bob Hilton. I didn’t grab the camera quick enough, but you can still make out a few letters:

          I’ve never seen such a thing before. Bob, of course, shouted, “No—I’m not ready yet!” as if this were a sign that he was coming home.  And then, in true St. Bob fashion, he added, “I just bought a new cartridge of printer ink!”

          Presumably to print my articles and manuscripts. Check out all my books right here!

If Shoes Could Speak

         I’ve been thinking, lately, about drug dealers. Not all of them, but the specific sub-set of dealers who throw tennis shoes over power lines to announce that this is the place where cops can find them. I mean this is the place to buy drugs.

          We’ve all known about this “secret” communication for decades, right?  Yet you still see relatively new sneakers tossed high over electric lines for all the world to see.

          And it makes me wonder several things. First, how can anyone afford to hurl a pair of sneakers up over the lines, losing them forever? Have you priced sneakers lately?

          Second, how long does it take before the shoes catch on the line? I can picture drug dealers standing in the middle of the street—in the night, I assume—tossing and tossing and tossing until the shoe laces finally catch the line. It looks very hard to do, much harder than making a basketball shot from the foul line. I’m wondering if this might eventually become an Olympic event.

          And how long do laces last in the sun and rain?  They’re biodegradable, remember. If thick lawn furniture breaks apart after one summer, how long can a shoelace last?  What if they fall on your windshield and cause a wreck? 

          Maybe drug dealers are not Phi Beta Kappa types, after all. Maybe, if they were smarter, they would have gone into baseball pitching or shot put. Then, at least, they could have kept their shoes.

If you can afford to toss your tennis shoes away, you could probably purchase ALL of my books right here!

Strawberry Rocks

         Yes, as a flavor, strawberry definitely rocks. But today I’m sharing a terrific trick you can use in the garden: Strawberry rocks!

          This is not a joke. You paint some small rocks to look like strawberries, then scatter them by your actual strawberry plants.

          Birds will come to steal your berries, peck on the hard rocks, and fly away. They’ll figure you are a terrible gardener and have nothing edible to offer.

          You’re welcome.  And, if you’re actually no good at growing things, you can do this with all your veggies, because it will impress the heck out of your neighbors. Imagine watermelon and pumpkin boulders—wow!

I even have a youtube video about this that you can see here.

Problem Solving Made Easy

         I will grant you that I may have a screw loose.

          For example, when my church women’s group had a get-acquainted night and I was asked, “What was your favorite grade in school?” I didn’t say 6^th grade or 10^th grade, I just stared for a moment trying to imagine how there could be any other answer, and said, “A.” 

          Right? Why would you want any other grade? And then it was explained that they meant kindergarten, etc.  I could see on several women’s faces the familiar expression, “Yeah, we’re getting to know her, all right.”

          BUT… that loose screw has come in handy when I need to give advice. A friend recently called me and confided that she thinks she weighs more than her husband, now. What should she do?

          Well, I told her, assuming this is a problem that even needs fixing, I see two choices. One, you could lose weight. Or two, get him to gain weight. Now you tell me: Which one is easier?

          I say fire up the ovens, Honey.

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