National What Day?

          As many of you know, today is National Dog Day in the U.S.

          This is the most superfluous holiday I can think of: EVERY day is Dog Day.

My dad used to say, “If a dog gets into the right home, he’s the luckiest creature on earth.”

And think about it: You are given praise and tummy rubs several times a day. You bring no income to this family, yet they feed you, provide you with a snuggly bed, play fetch with you, and even pick up your poop. Almost nothing compares to a dog’s life.

So, as a writer, I’d like to propose a different holiday, one that makes a world of sense. It would honor people who have signed up for a lifetime of frustration, having to be patient, and having to proofread.  It’s the poor, beleaguered spouses of writers.

We could call it Spouses of Writers Day (although S.O.W. comes to mind), or maybe just PPW—People Patient with Writers. Bless their hearts, they will talk to us for ten minutes, only to hear us ask, “What was that, again?” because we were miles away on a desert island or a roller coaster, coming up with dialogue and plot points.

          Our frustrations billow through the house as we moan about agents, publishers, even grammar (though that’s usually other people’s). 

          
We jot down ideas, misplace them, and then insist these were the best ideas ever. We dream great ideas, scribble them on a bedside pad, and then can’t read any of them in the morning.

  

        Honestly, our careworn companions need a day to be celebrated. Or, at least to have a favorite meal, followed by a hot fudge sundae.

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Don't Be a Pill

          I have a wonderful group of friends in what we call “The Etc. Club.” ETC stands for Extra Talented and Creative. A few years ago one of them broke her arm while driving (!!) and said to the rest of us, “Double up on your calcium, Girls!”  So, I did. A month later I had kidney stones.

You’d think I would learn. A week ago she showed us all her little pill-carrier, a tiny metal box you can attach to a key chain, or wear around your neck. She has actually had a couple of mini-strokes (TIAs), so this is a great way to keep a baby aspirin handy.

Once again, I dutifully ordered one for me and one for St. Bob. Not only could this help us, but someone else nearby, right? But now I have to come up with some kind of padding for it, because here’s what the box literally said:

And we certainly can’t have pills crashing into each other. And now you can pass on this excellent advice.

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You're Hooked on WHAT?

           The other day I was at lunch with a couple of friends, and one of them happened to mention her first date with her husband. Turns out they decided to go boating in canoe, truly a romantic first date. The river was sparkling blue and a gentle breeze helped guide them along. 

Then, as they went under a bridge, a fishing line was hanging there, and the fish hook snagged her nose!

          What are the odds of this? First, you have someone sitting on the bridge, who knows when, who loses their line. But wait—the line miraculously gets stuck and doesn’t fall all the way into the water.  But wait—it manages to dangle its hook exactly at the height a person’s nose could be, if they were floating by in a canoe underneath. And then the boat is lined up perfectly. Folks, you couldn’t do this if you tried 1,000 times.

          My poor friend had to go back to her home with her date, as he carefully removed the hook from her nostril, and dabbed her nose with alcohol. Some of you (and you know who you are) would be crying and screaming at the same time, right?

          As we left our lunch area, they mentioned the overly chatty woman sitting next to us, dining by herself, yet jumping into our conversation as well. My friend mumbled something, and I thought she said, “Better than having a bishop in your nose.” (Well, we’re all LDS so we actually do have a bishop.)

          “What did you say—having a bishop in your nose?” I asked.

          “No, a fish hook,” she reminded me.

          “Oh, yes,” I agreed. “That’s much better than having a bishop in your nose.”

          And that’s when I realized I might be just a teensy bit like autocorrect. Sheesh!

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Time For Some Good Rizz

           If you’re reading this, you speak English. But did you know that another language has sprung up right within English, that most of us can’t understand?

          That’s right. GenZ kids, born in the late nineties, use English words in different ways, so that nobody over 25 can understand them. They’re doing this right under our noses! It’s like the Pig Latin we used to speak as kids. But much harder to decipher.

          So I’m giving all of you a break, and helping you become bilingual by this afternoon:

          First, my own flub—teaching a group of teens who understood that Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce's “ship” name is not the name of their boat. It’s their relationship name. Sheesh! (And sheesh no longer means good grief, but is a compliment to someone.)

          No Cap—This means no lie.

          Dank—we think of dank and dark, like a sewer system. Nope—it means excellent and of high quality.

          Clocked—means someone caught you, or saw through your act.

          Snack—Oh, no. It’s not chips or cookies. It’s a person you find attractive.

          Drip—Remember when a drip was a dullard, a doofus. But today it means a cool or sexy style.

          Bet—Remember feeling cool when you learned “word” confirmed something? Well that was a Millennial thing. Now the word for that is bet.

          Cooked—You’re done for

          Hey, Sis—this is a greeting for any friend of any gender.

          Boujee—expensive, extravagant

          Frfr—For real, for real.

          And if you still can’t speak GenZ, you’re definitely cheugy, you Boomer.

          But anyone, of any age will Bet that my Youtube Mom channel is the best place to find fast life hacks. No cap, Bro. Frfr. Subscribe with 10K others!