Charity Begins at Checkout

Barnes and Noble checkout counter:

Cashier: That will be $21.75. Would you like to round up and donate to St. Judes?

Me: Um, sure, that would be fine.

C: Thank you! Would you like to buy a cup of coffee for a military service member overseas for an extra .99?

Me: Yes, I’d love to do that.

C: Thank you! Would you like to take this opportunity and subscribe to three free magazines for $5.99?

Me: Oh no, that won’t be necessary.

C: Thank you! Would you like to buy this coffee mug for $9.99 that will go towards underserved college women in foreign countries?

Me: Um, not today.

C: Thank you! How about this adorable stuffed bear for 12.99? The bears and the proceeds go to Ukrainian orphans.

Me: Oh, gee, I’d really love to, but I don’t have enough money, I’m sorry. I assure you I donate to many charities that help Ukraine…

C: Thank you! We have a promotion going right now that for $30.00, you not only get a store membership and a free chocolate chip cookie, but also a donation towards the legal fees of molested Boy Scouts of America.

Me: Well, that’s a worthy cause, but I don’t really think…

C: Thank you! This new book by Elin Hildebrand is only $17.99, and if you buy four copies, three copies get sent to depressed women in Massachusetts who don’t want their children home for the summer. The money goes towards their Soul Cycle classes and nanny salaries.

Me: It’s not really my place to….

C: Thank you! Before you go, would you consider donating to this GoFund Me for a local family whose house burned down?

Me: No.

C: Meals on Wheels for fathers whose wives go away on girls’ weekends?

Me: No.

C: How about this church raffle that will offset costs for a small family of four to go to Disneyland?

Me: Nope.

C: A scratch-off ticket that will put money towards Governor Murphy’s dental work?

Me: Uh-uh.

C: (Hands me my purchases). Thank you! Will there be anything else today?

Me: I think that just about covers it.

Movement Inspires

Next time you go for a drive, complete this challenge: Every time a driver does something that pisses you off, check out if it is a Kia. I guarantee that 80 percent of stupid moves on the road are done by Kia drivers. Let’s allot another five percent to people in Hyundais, and another five to Infinity drivers. That leaves 10 percent for every other car model.

And if you are the owner and driver of a Kia, please forgive me for this question, but:

 Are you ok?

Why are you so angry? Why do you speed so recklessly? Why do you pass from the wrong lanes? Why do you tailgate? Why do you drag race at red lights? Why are you always scowling? Why do you always have trash piled up on your back window?

I mean, are you angry because you had to buy a Kia? Do you love your Kia, but feel shame about it, like ABBA fans? Are you not angry, but you want us to think you’re angry? Do you have low self-esteem? Are you trying to prove that Kias are just as good as every other car brand? Do you think that we think your car is a shit box, so you want to try and kill us with it?

Is a personality test required to purchase a Kia?

Thank you for the interest in this Kia. Please fill out this questionnaire with as much honesty as possible by answering Yes or No:

Do you believe that movement inspires?

Do you believe that fast and reckless movement inspires even more than safe movement?

Do you agree to mow down slow-moving drivers and pedestrians?

Do you agree to attend anger management sessions?

Do you agree to drive 30-40 miles faster than the legal speed limit?

Do you agree to never wave anyone ahead of you into traffic?

Do you agree to weave in and out of lanes on major highways?

Do you agree to risk the lives of yourself, your loved ones and other drivers for the entire length of time you drive this vehicle?

Thank you for filling out this questionnaire. If you answered “Yes” to at least six of these questions, you are now a proud owner of a Kia. Remember to drive irresponsibly, and never forget:

Movement inspires.

The Great Betrayal

I remember last Tuesday clearly, because I wrote in my appointment book in capital letters:

THE GREAT BETRAYAL.

And that is what it shall be called, henceforth.

In the early hours of last Tuesday morning, as my coffee steeped in the French press, I was packing my car for work and looking around my yard. Normally in the spring my yard is rife with ducks, bunnies, squirrels and birds, but this year is just a quiet, unfrequented patch of grass. Some birds, maybe a squirrel here and there, but largely deserted.

I walked back in my house, glancing sadly at the full bag of critter food waiting on my front table. Outrageously expensive, the bag sat at the ready, for visiting fluffers.

But there had been no visiting fluffers.

Do my yard critters know something I don’t? Have migratory patterns changed? Am I vilified in the bunny community as a Bunny Murderer?

Driving down Bay Avenue and ruminating on these questions, I suddenly saw Mr. and Mrs. Duck slowly crossing the street. MY Mr. and Mrs. Duck. I slammed on my brakes as they waddled in front of my car, oblivious to my presence, and I exited the car.

“Hey!” I yelled.

They waddled.

“Hey! Where you guys been!”

Waddling, sidelong glance.

“I’ve got some really delicious snack mix for you. Stop by, o.k.?”  I could hear the desperate, pleading tone in my voice, but I couldn’t stop myself. Knowing I would appear needy, I nevertheless opened my mouth to address them again. Suddenly I heard:

“Good morning guys, I’ve got breakfast for youuuuu!”

Looking in the direction of the voice, I saw an older woman in a bathrobe and slippers, holding a bag of critter feed. Our eyes met, and I watched Mr. and Mrs. Duck waddle enthusiastically to her yard.

“Well, well,” I said. “So that’s how it’s gonna be.”

Nary a glance in my direction, they began to nibble, the woman and I stared at each other. Finally, I uttered only one more sentence:

“Take care of each other.”

Critters

I have a sneaking suspicion that the funniest thing in my week just happened five minutes ago.  When searching for a stock image for this blog post about yard critters, I typed into the search bar “a group of small wild creatures,” and the first image that appeared were four young girls standing at a bar wearing bachelorette accessories).

Last spring two fatalities occurred on my property. Two bunnies died on my watch, one adult, and one baby. The adult died in my flower garden, most likely the victim of a cat or a fox.

But the death of the baby remains a mystery.

For some reason that day I had gone into my sons’ man cave, a place I never, ever, ever, ever enter anymore. I stopped going in there a long time ago, for the same reasons I don’t patronize escape rooms, laser tag rooms, paintball fields, or Satanic ritual dungeons.

I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. I will never get it. Leave me out of it.

On this particular day, all three of my boys were away living their lives, and I must have needed to get to the sprinkler system, or maybe my golf clubs. The door to their cave was slightly ajar, as my three sons have never shut a door or turned off a light in their entire lives. And there on the floor, next to a decorative glass vase filled with dirty water was a tiny dead bunny. It was so small that it looked like a stuffed animal. Distraught, I sent the picture to a friend, called her and asked her what I should do.

“Mary, um, that’s not a vase.”

“What? The glass thing?”

Silence.

“No,” she said. “Are you serious?”

Well, I’m not naïve, it just didn’t occur to me at the time. Nevertheless, I took a screen shot of the dead bunny next to the apparatus and sent it in a group text to my sons.

“Way to go. Murderers.”

A flurry of texts ensued.

“WTF?”

“Mom, what is that?”

“Why are you in there?”

“Yeah, why are you in there?”

“What are you implying?”

“Yeah, what are you implying?”

“Is that real?”

“Yeah, is that real?”

“What do you mean, calling us murderers?”

“Uh, yeah!”

And finally:

“Is that staged?”

“Staged?” I texted back. “You think that’s what I do for fun, stage rabbit murders? No, it’s not STAGED. Perhaps this bunny ingested something he shouldn’t have?”

Silence. Then:

“Are you trying to pin this on us?”

Me:

“I’m simply pointing out that because you left the man cave door ajar, a baby bunny got in there and is now dead on the floor of your Weed Den. I’m not implying anything, I’m stating outright that it is directly and absolutely your fault a mother bunny is waking up today with one less baby bunny.”

Disgruntlement followed, and plans for removal and burial of said bunny followed soon upon that. Stoic boy came home to remove bunny, and buried him in a respectful place in our garden, deep enough so he could not get unearthed by a nocturnal critter looking for a midnight snack.

Here’s the problem:

I have no bunnies this year. My ducks aren’t even here. Some squirrels and requisite birds, but where is my menagerie?

WHERE IS EVERYONE?

Did the bunnies eat poison? Were we directly responsible for their deaths? Has the critter world lost faith in us? Did a memo go out to avoid our property? Am I not their favorite anymore?

Where are Mr. and Mrs. Duck?????

Part II tomorrow.

Fear Itself

Fears change and subside throughout one’s lifetime. For example, even as little as five years ago I would go to bed in my empty house and feel fear at the thought of someone breaking in and murdering me. And now? Last night I was so tired going to bed, that despite the quiet echo of the house that led my mind once again to thoughts of home invasion and evisceration, I only had one thought.

“At least then I could sleep in in the morning. And I could forget about getting that presentation ready.”

More irrational fears and my accompanying indifference:

Being possessed by the witch who most certainly lives in my attic:

Might be fun to speak in tongues, and flying sounds fun. But I will NOT join a coven. I hate dressing thematically.

Being in an airplane crash:

Maybe only I and that hot guy in 4D will survive, his wife won’t, and I can capitalize on the 4.5- minute opportunity during which a widower is a widower before he remarries.  And being stranded on a desert island is a great weight loss opportunity.

Being attacked by a shark, a bear or any other wild animal:

Instant book deal. If I don’t croak.

Getting lost somewhere sketchy or remote when traveling:

Ending up in an unfamiliar ghetto or a remote desert canyon at sunset is better than sitting in the house bored.

Getting put in an old-age home:

Meals made for me. Naps. Jewelry-making, bingo and square dancing. Hot single old guys. Sign me up, bitch.

A house fire:

This one is no joke. I’m still afraid of house fires. And other things like tax season, and the FAFSA, and crickets. But for the most part, I am fearless.

Getting older has its perks.

Fra-gee-lay

In Tampa I went into the hotel gift shop, turned a little too quickly, and knocked three Christmas ornaments onto the floor with my backpack. They smashed into smithereens, but they didn’t make me pay for them. I offered.

On campus, I stopped for a cup of tea before class at the coffee kiosk, and the barista gestured to the boxes of tea, asking me to choose which flavor I wanted. I tried pushing my hand through that plastic partition three times before she stated the obvious.

“Um, I’ll get it for you, just tell me which one.”

I was wearing my faculty credentials. Great.

I bought a little rocket blender for juicing, and I stared at the parts on my counter for weeks until my son came home and told me how to work it.

“Seriously?” He looked at me incredulously. “It has three parts. This is embarrassingly easy. What’s wrong with you?”

A lot, apparently.

The hotel coffee pot and ice machine. The lamp in the guest bedroom of my friend’s house in Scottsdale. The tray built into the arm of my airplane seat. My life is a daily struggle to manipulate the objects and contraptions around me, and my clumsiness and inability to use my common sense puts me on the losing side of that struggle.

As I stood outside Pottery Barn on Sunday, my mind began running interference for me.

Don’t even think it. Don’t go in there.

I went in anyway.

You’re too clumsy for this store. Turn around.

No. I approach candles.

Don’t pick those up by the lid.

I sniff and move away. I approach dish towels.

I know you think this is a safe area, but you’d be wrong.

I lovingly stroke the soft linen and warily approach the Easter display.

No. Stop. What do you think you’re doing? You’re too clumsy to touch those plates.

I carefully pick up a small bread plate adorned with bunnies, turn it over to see the price, and it falters slightly in my hands. I back away.

Good move. Whew.

Stemmed wine glasses. I move towards them as in some kind of consumer-induced trance.

Absolutely not. Don’t even try it, they can’t fit into your suitcase.

I hear a voice.

“We can ship those to you for no charge. How many are you interested in?”

I sigh.

“None. Just looking.”

Anarchy

(This week’s posts will all be quick and painless. Big week, not enough time)

As read on Instagram:

The airport is such a lawless place. You get absolutely hammered at chilis at 11 am and buy an iPad out of a vending machine. Plugging every electronic you own into sketchy usb outlets eating a $12 cinnamon roll the size of your head. And it’s just like a Tuesday.

Drive-Through

Just a little bit of me being me:

Pulls into drive-through lane at bank. Requests and then sends canister for deposit slip. Canister returns. Forgot to ask for pen. Sends canister again. Canister returns with pen. Signs checks, drops pen between car seats. Pulls mechanical seat up and back to find the pen in the netherworld between seat and console. Can feel teller staring at me, and am fully aware of the spectacle I am creating. Finds pen, finishes filling out slip. Sends canister for third time. Canister returns. Successfully removes envelope of cash from canister. Replaces canister, misses slot, canister drops on the concrete. Tries to open car door to get out and retrieve canister, but car is pulled too close to the tube to open door. Puts car in “drive,” and moves up slowly. Hears cracking and splintering. Rolls eyes, and says, “FUCK!” Gets out of car, and retrieves now useless bank canister. Waves apologetically at truck in line behind me, and makes mental note that he is not amused. Apologizes to laughing teller on the screen, and sends canister back to him just as he is saying, “No, don’t send it back, it won’t send in that condition…” Apologizes again as canister gets stuck in tube. Happy that teller manages to send it back to me again. Agrees to bring the canister into the bank. Drives around block to the entrance, and hands canister to confused bank manager. Hears two drive-through tellers laughing, as one says to the other: “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” Happy to be of service.

Every word true.

Exit Strategy

Instead of tapping on her Gymshark workout app, Mary mistakenly taps on the Xfinity app, which she has never once used.

Xfinity bot: Hi! Nice to see you here! How can we help you today?

Mary types: Sorry, I opened this by mistake. Nothing, thanks.

Mary starts her workout. Her phone pings.

Xfinity: We see that you tried to login! Can we help you?

Mary types: No. It was a mistake, I am not trying to login.

Continues her workout. Ping.

Xfinity: Did you want to see your bill? Download our monthly deals? Speak to a customer care representative?

Mary: No!

Ping.

Xfinity: Is it something we did? How can we correct the situation? Your satisfaction is our number one priority.

Mary: Fuck off! I don’t need to use this app! I’m trying to work out!

Ping.

Xfinity: Your login attempt was unsuccessful. Your account is now locked until you call customer care.

Mary: (Deletes app from phone and feels vindicated)

Ping.

Xfinity email: We see you deleted our app. Can we help you this way?

Mary: OMG, NO!

Brrriiinnnnggggg.

Xfinity on phone: “This is a recorded message from Xfinity”:

“Mary Oves, thank you for contacting customer service. Your wait time to speak to a representative is three minutes. Would you like a call back to this number?”

Mary: Presses two for “NO!”

Brrriiiiinnnngggg.

Xfinity: But why?

Mary: You’re way too needy. (Blocks calls)

Xfinity:

Mary three days later has to pay her Comcast bill:

Xfinity: Your account is locked indefinitely. We always win.

Broked

Go right now to your family junk drawer and make a mental note of what’s in there. Here’s some stuff in mine:

Paddleball ball. Playing cards. Back scratcher. Jar opener. Glue stick. Lego figurines. Titleist. White board eraser. Letter opener. Gratitude rock. Dog ball. Pinnacle. About ten pairs of scissors, twenty Sharpies and a million rubber bands.

Everyone has that junk drawer. But I can take it one step further. I not only have a generic junk drawer, but I have a broken junk drawer. You heard me right. When something breaks, I assess the cost and benefit of getting it fixed, and if the cost outweighs the inconvenience, I throw the piece into the broken junk drawer.

Here are some items in it:

  • Glass doorknob bulbs. The glass doorknobs we put on some of our cabinet doors weren’t all glass- they were just glass-tipped. They all kind of started falling off at once, and no glue we used made them stick back on. There are six in the drawer.
  • Dishwasher cover plate. This broke off of our brand-new dishwasher the second day they installed it. It doesn’t impede the operation of the machine, it just makes the buttons look strange. Like looking down into the inner-workings of a robot or cell phone.
  • A microwave screen. The right one fell off, the left is still intact. Every once in a while I make a half-hearted effort to click it back in, but it doesn’t seem to want to go. It’s on my To-Do list for summer.
  • Various refrigerator parts. Stuff just falls off in the refrigerator. A rubber tubing around the ice dispenser. A part off of the produce drawer. A shelf divider. Also on my summer list.
  • A little compartment door from the back of the television
  • The battery compartment lid from the remote
  • Various dishwasher compartment separators
  • Some part of the dryer whose function remains a mystery, because the dryer works fine.

For now.