Diet Coke Man

           I was just living a regular, suburban life, unaware that my husband had, yet again, become famous.

          But this time it’s not for hosting game shows. This time I was in Home Goods drooling over their darling Christmas décor. I asked a clerk to watch a gingerbread house while I went to get my husband’s attention. “He’s up there, buying cases of Diet Coke,” I explained. Apparently this home accessory store sells them cheaper than the supermarkets.

          “Oh!” the girl brightened. “I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never met him.”

          Seriously. St. Bob is now a folk hero, like Davy Crockett, or Johnny Appleseed. Stories of his extravagant bulk purchases have filtered through the entire staff, who no doubt text each other, “He’s here!” when he starts emptying their fridge into his shopping cart.

          And now I feel obligated to introduce her to him, and hope a line doesn’t form. What if people think it’s the check-out line, and then discover that it isn’t? What if they ask Bob to autograph items they haven’t purchased yet?

          I can see the manager beaming from 20 yards away, the same way women do wherever we go. The Diet Coke Man.  Well, at least he isn’t the Hamburglar.

    Hey, here’s something you can do while you’re waiting in line—watch my short Youtube Mom videos!  All kinds of life hacks, just waiting in line for you!

         

The Perfect Vacation?

     I’ve told you I love mishaps. Not every disaster in life is a good thing, but if you write comedy, the little ones are like gold.

          Take our recent trip to Greece, with our grown kids. Day one: There’s a cab strike, so we have to walk multiple miles from our hotel to the Acropolis, arrive sweaty and exhausted, and remember--  we still have to climb the darn thing. And walk back.

          Day two: A downpour. Rushing through the rain for miles again, and getting absolutely soaked. The archeology museum has a line 50 yards long.

          Day three: We take a ferry to Mykonos. Brandon gets a 24-hour flu.

          Day four: Poor Melissa goes to the hotel breakfast where a woman is repeatedly throwing up into a large cup, as if this is an everyday thing. Melissa turns away, and there’s a man mixing fruit into his scrambled eggs, then eating it.

          Day five: Brandon and Melissa leave all their toiletries in Mykonos as we fly to Santorini. Then their blow dryer blows up.

Day six: Brandon has planned a surprise--to propose to Melissa-- but doesn’t want a big crowd. Everywhere we go there are tourists. Finally he hears that the sunset is beautiful at the other end of the island by the deserted lighthouse, so we go to sit and watch this private and romantic scene. Except everyone else has also heard about this nice view, so there are at least a hundred people on the slope above the place where he plans to propose. It looks like Seal Beach:

 

          It couldn’t have been more public if he had chosen a stadium. (The good news is that they all cheered and clapped, which was cool.) Needless to say, this was the TOTALLY perfect and redeeming part of the vacation.

          Day seven: Bob gets sick—stomach flu, fever, lots of fun.

Day eight: We head back to Athens where the hotel bathroom is made entirely of marble. This sounds beautiful until you realize the floor is also marble and the shower has no door. The entire bathroom floor gets wet, and wet marble is a 10 on the Slippery Scale.  Oh, well. Safety Third, right?

Day nine: As St. Bob and I head back, I contract Covid. The others go on excursions to Turkey and Rhodes. (More to come, folks.)

          But you can find travel tips and all sorts of life hacks in short videos on my Youtube Mom channel! And be sure to subscribe.

 

Not to Squash Your Enthusiasm, but…

           Well, it’s that time of year again—Pumpkin Season. This is the time when literally EVERYONE is out buying pumpkins. Regardless of your politics, religion, race, or whatever, you feel compelled to join the crowd and put pumpkins in your shopping cart.

          We haul them home, put them on our front porches, festoon our homes with these bright orange balls, carve them into faces, and then throw them away. Do we eat pumpkins? Certainly not—it’s too much work! We just buy the puree in cans and completely waste the whole pumpkins.

          But it goes beyond the squashes. We also want everything that’s pumpkin seasoned or scented:  Cookies, cakes, pies, candies, popcorn, milkshakes, pancakes, syrup, granola, car wash soap, lotion, candles, body wash, room spray—the list is endless.

          We have consented to participate in this Pumpkinpalooza, simply by growing up. It’s what you do. Calling an end to this madness would be inhuman—like deliberately becoming a zombie. And then we dress up as zombies—or other ridiculous costumes—and run around begging for candy.

          It’s simply what we do.

          And here are some more Halloween ideas, on my Youtube Mom channel. Be sure to subscribe!