My heart skipped when I spotted the set of bedsheets with matching comforter that complemented the color scheme of my bedroom. A sense of excitement flushed over me as I gently positioned them in my shopping cart next to the memory foam bath mats. I have never been more frightened in my ...
One of the greatest joys of my teen years was jumping in my car and driving. In my high school years, I tooled around in a 1972 Dodge Polara. A 1975 AMC Gremlin became my college years upgrade. One evening at the institution, three other inmates and I couldn’t decide which campus dining hall to visit. “Hey, let’s go to my house,” I said. We crammed ourselves into the Mighty Grem and took off on the nearly two-hour drive to Mom and Dad’s for supper. It was called dinner at the university, but back home on the farm, we called the evening meal supper. Dinner on the farm was ...
I studied the menu board as I ambled up the counter. But before I could get the word “Quesadilla” out, the teenage punk behind the cash register spoke first: “You have to use the kiosk to order.” He pointed behind me at one of those infernal touch-screen machines. Forty-some years ago, I used to drop quarters into boxes much like that one so that I could use a joystick to send Pac-Man whooshing through a maze to eat ghosts. Now, if I want to eat, I gotta stand at a stupid kiosk that has neither joy nor joystick, and tap photos of what I want to eat. And I don’t insert ...
Halloween is past and now it’s the most wonderful time of the year — big sales on trick or treat candy. What did you think I was going to say? Sure stores have been selling Christmas stuff since July, and by October, EVERYTHING comes in pumpkin spice variety. If we still had to lick postage stamps, the adhesive would be pumpkin spice-flavored this time of year. Pumpkin-shaped peanut butter cups make a whole lot more sense than ANYTHING labeled “pumpkin spice.” That’s why this is the most wonderful time of the year — every Nov. 1, big bags of chocolate go on sale for ...
The geezer counting out his change lost track and started counting over. The kid in his 20s bouncing behind him let loose a tirade about the doltishness of old people. “What is this, a nursing home?” the youngster groused. “I mean, look at that guy. He has to be in his 60s. He’s ancient!” Well pardon my silver hair and Medicare card, but 60s is not — I repeat, NOT — old! It used to be old, but it’s not anymore. Back in the last century, I knew that anyone in his or her 40s had surpassed their “best used by” expiration date and could be ignored as feeble of mind. I ...
Marital truth of the day: “Nobody is more surprised than a husband hearing about his wife’s plans for the second time.” (Laura Marie Gordon) It’s a tired trope, the one about how husbands don’t actually listen to what their wives say. This is not true. I’m positive that every ...
