Quality Not In Control

           We’ve all been on the phone and heard the disclaimer: “This conversation may be recorded for quality control purposes.” 

          And yet—you have to agree with me—the quality never improves. Right?  The exact same level of competence and courtesy is always maintained (which is amazing in and of itself).

          But if you’ve imagined a board room filled with caring experts who are sharing your phone call with other caring employees who take notes and strive to improve, I’m afraid you—like me—are imagining things.

          Not only do we have to endure such messages at the beginning of many phone calls, but are then expected to stay on the line “to take a brief survey” afterwards.

          Incredibly, my insurance company has you evaluate your helper, right to the helper. The employee literally says, “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate my service today?”

          Seriously!  No private evaluation, just telling them to their face. Okay, their ear.  And you don’t want to say “three” because that’s like insulting them. But what if it was dreadful and really is a three?  I’m guessing they’ll never know because most people will just say “10” to avoid an argument.

          It’s also puzzling why they all say, “Listen carefully, as our menu has changed,” when it hasn’t changed one whit.

          And so many calls are farmed out to other countries and people working at home that I’ve heard roosters crowing, kids bickering, and TVs blaring in the background. I’d give most of them a five.

But I give my books a big fat 10, and hope you will, too. Find ‘em all right here.

The Truth About Growing Up

            Here’s how it is. When you’re little, you have your own bed, often in your own bedroom. You have your own closet, chest of drawers, and sometimes you have your own bathroom.

            And then you get married and those things are gone. Forever. Suddenly, in the sardonically named “Master Bedroom” you now share a bed and have less space than when you were two years old.

            Unless you live in a mega mansion, you must also share a bathroom, and frequently, a closet. And this is how it will be for the rest of your life. Spitting into sinks together, using the same toilet, and the same tub and shower. Sharing a dresser. Bumping into each other as you try to get dressed.

You graduated to adulthood, but everything that was once yours is now divided in half.  And the whole world buys into this, and shops for these same shared items—mattresses, furniture, showerheads.

I’m still glad I married St. Bob, and I’m aware he has made the same sacrifice of space, but know this: You really can fool all of the people, all of the time.          

            You can also share my books—why not, long as we’re on a roll!

Worst Weed in the World

You are not going to believe this. I don’t believe it, and I saw it with my own eyes.

          There is a weed that virtually explodes, sending out

           5,000

seeds and infesting the ground as far as 10 feet away.

          Its name is Bittercress (sometimes HAIRY Bittercress) and it is the bane of my existence right now.

          When you think to yourself, “How on earth did we get so many weeds?” this is how.

          I was working in my front flower bed and bumped a drip line. Suddenly I saw a wide mist of water emanating from that very spot! “Wow,” I mumbled. I had no idea a drip system could have a “mist” setting.

          Alas, I was wrong—it was one of these horrid weeds, bursting! A light nudge or even a breeze can create the explosion. It looks like water vapor or a powdery puff of smoke.

But don’t be fooled. These little wise guy seeds burrow in and begin to flourish. You have to pull them out by hand if you want to salvage the flowers nearby. But if you don’t get the entire root, they’ll come back.

Meanwhile, if you call and I don’t answer, it’s because I’m in the back yard. Pulling them out with tweezers.

Check out my Youtube Mom videos—sorry there isn’t one on an easy way to get rid of Bittercress!

Becoming One?

           Admit it: You secretly (or not so secretly) wish your spouse could be more like you in some ways. Over the years, whenever I’ve noticed St. Bob adopting a habit of mine, I’ve pointed out this wonderful event.

          He now likes to put the Christmas tree up early.

          He’ll give a pinch of people food to the dog sometimes.

          He puts the toilet paper on the roll the way I do.

          And today, while grocery shopping together, he told me he always looks for the softest bread.

          “I thought you like crusty bread,” I said.

          “No, I like soft bread better,” he said.

          “Aha! You really are becoming me.”

          “No, I was you before you were you,” he said.

          I’ll take that.

          He also uses the life hacks I show on my Youtube Mom channel here. Be sure to subscribe!

Sign Up Here

           I love hilarious signs, and on our recent trip up California’s coast, St. Bob and I found several. This is not only an area of gorgeous crashing waves, but of cattle ranches.  I like this warning sign:          

          Notice how they fixed it, but then left the first, misspelled one up, anyway. And the bird couldn’t care less. Then there was this one:

         I half expect another sign below it, saying, “Seriously. You have no idea.” And then this one:

Which truly speaks for itself.

          And there are  always companies who don’t think ahead, about how their name will look on a website, all crammed together:

          As we parked to go whale watching, I couldn’t help wondering why someone hadn’t added an IA or an ICAL to the bottom of this one:

          And finally, I learned there are actually people in this world who EXCHANGE avocados. Who knew?

          There’s still so much to learn, right?  Find even more by watching my Youtube Mom videos, full of life hacks and fun information.

The Edge of Romance

           St. Bob and I just had a fabulous whale-watching trip in northern California.         

We saw amazingly gorgeous scenery:

       

Very romantically, I suggested we sit on the edge of one of the cliffs and watch the crashing waves. (Not cliffs, just plateau edges, really.)

          Bob was astonished that I would suggest something so dangerous. “I’m not sitting on the edge!” he said. “You’re the one with a life insurance policy—YOU sit on the edge!”

          Well, now I was laughing so hard my knees were buckling, so I did, indeed, need to sit down.

          And next week I’ll treat you to more laughs—all the funny signs we saw.

          Meanwhile, get a jump on Mother’s Day and order my books for your mom!

Warm Heart, Cold Nose?

         Lots of people have cold hands, right? I have a more canine situation. My nose gets icy cold. If I go to bed before my nose warms up, it’s so cold I can’t fall asleep.

          Here are my remedies, in case any of you suffer from what is undoubtedly a sign of great character:

1.      Wear a Covid mask. You won’t get much oxygen, but your nose will be warm.

2.     Rub your nose to increase circulation. It probably won’t work and your nose may turn red. Also, now your fingers might get cold.

3.     Hide under the covers until your nose warms up. See the side-effect of remedy #1.

So the other night I was under the covers, complaining with a muffled voice that I couldn’t breathe, when St. Bob suggested what he thought was a perfect solution: A SNORKEL.

And there is no photo here, because NO ONE ELSE WOULD THINK OF ANYTHING SO RIDICULOUS.

Yes, folks, that is the kind of brilliance you can always find in Joniopolis. Just dial 1-800-Imarriedacomedian.

Traces of his personality also show up in several of my characters. You can find all my books right here.