The Perils of Trampolining.

Watching Family Feud this afternoon, the question was “Name a part of your body that might hit you in the face when bouncing on a trampoline.” 

After the regular answers such as hand, arm, leg, knee, and fingers, there was just one answer left. 

One guy suggested “your butt”. Hysterical. Not surprisingly, though, it wasn’t on the list. 

The opposing team suggested that a man’s junk might hit him in the face. 

Then this conversation happened between the three of us watching together.

V: “Do you want to tell me how a man is going to get whacked in the face with that?”

J: “You mean that’s never happened to you?”

Me: “If men could work out how to make that happen, they’d never be bored again.”

Those ten seconds were more entertaining than the whole show.


Why one should mind one’s own business in the supermarket. 

It had been a long, busy day at work following several days plagued by severe headaches. I headed to the supermarket to get some things for dinner and to stock up on Tim Tams for my family and friends in the U.S. and Canada, as I am heading back over there in a couple of weeks. 

I had ten packs of Tim Tams and a stack of other Aussie treats in my basket. A lady nearby looked into my basket and then looked at me, as though she were trying to shame me for my wilful flirtation with Type 2 Diabetes.  

I could have called her out on being a nosy cow who makes assumptions about strangers way too quickly but, instead, I looked her right in the eye with feigned innocence as I took the last box of Tee Vee Snacks from right in front of her and said, “What? I’m hungry, okay?”

She couldn’t look away fast enough. 

“There!” I said inside my head, “that will teach you to mind your own business.”

When I got to the checkout, the attendant was looking strangely at my stash and at me, but at least she tried to hide it. Once again, I looked at her and said, “Never can stop at just one, you know!” 

She tried to hide her reaction with a smile, but it was awkward.

“Not really,” I continued. “I’m going to America and Canada in a couple of weeks and they can’t get Tim Tams there. I’m performing a mission of mercy.”

That time, she really was horrified. 

“Those poor people!” she said. “Ten packets isn’t enough!”

“I know, right,” I said, “but I don’t want to be arrested for trafficking a drug of dependence.”

“Can they do that?”

“Yeah, twelve packs and I’d be a goner. They’d confiscate them all at the airport and arrest me. ”

Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open. 

Never mind how tired I had been just twenty minutes earlier. I walked out of that store feeling like an absolute legend. 

Trying a little tenderness.

The man of the house cooked steak with Diane sauce for dinner tonight.
It was delicious.

LMC didn’t like it though. Her face screwed up and she very expressively said, “Ugh!”
She scraped the sauce off her steak with a very serious look on her face: there was no way she was going to leave any of that behind. She then ate the rest of her meal quite happily.

We adults were chatting happily as we ate, and then I realised what she was doing.
As she extracted each pea from the sauce, she said to it gently, “I’ll save you!”
Then she carefully rolled each pea around the plate to get the sauce off before she ate it.

After a while, I said to her, “Any talking to your vegetables should be done in your head.”
Silently, she continued the ritual until all the peas were gone and only the gravy remained.

It really was cute and funny. especially as she’s not usually so sentimental when it comes to her food.
I guess next time we’ll just give her the steak without the sauce.

The Bog Blog #3: The Final Crapter

A nurse just went into the bathroom and came out visibly shaken.
Hubby’s specimen extraordinaire has now been escorted out by security.

They are probably doing a postmortem now, even though it was still alive and launching its pan-to-nostrils offensives as it was being taken out.

I guess we can rest assured that it died fighting.
It sure as hell smelt that way.

It’s sure to be interred as peacefully as it came into the world.

The Bog Blog #1: Stand and Deliver

The doctor asked for a stool sample, so this morning my husband obliged.

He has been telling nurses for 90 minutes that it’s in the bathroom waiting for them.

I’ve been adding my own commentary to the conversations:

“It’s THIS BIG!”

“I just checked… it’s now three feet long.”

“I guess you’re used to people trying to give you crap.”

“I guess if they don’t take it away, we’ll have to go on undeterred.”

“Your request has been logged.”

“Well, that’s just shit.”

“You weren’t meant to fill the whole container, you know…”

“It just kept piling up like he’s a soft-serve machine or something.”

“Any drinks or fries with your order?”

“There’s a bear in there…”

It’s a gift.
You’re welcome.

Oh wait, I can use that, too.