Moms picking up their kids from preschool are like celebrities...someone is yelling your name, pushing past people to get to you & bragging to everyone that they know you. Definitely makes my day after having such a difficult one with people who are old enough to be in the workplace, but who behave as though they should be in preschool instead.
A person soon learns how little they know when a child begins asking questions... This is so true. Try explaining something to a child and the only word you can think of to explain it is the word they asked about.
A time out? No, no...it's called a spanking. Go on. Act a fool. I'll demonstrate.
Two mysterious people live in my house... somebody and nobody. Somebody did it and Nobody knows who.
There was a man who worked for the Post Office whose job was to process all the mail that had illegible addresses. One day, a letter came addressed in a shaky handwriting to God with no actual address. He thought he should open it to see what it was about. The letter read:
Dear God,
I am an 83 year old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had $100 in it, which was all the money I had until my next pension payment. Next Sunday is Easter, and I had invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with, have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me?
Sincerely,
Edna
The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all the other workers. Each one dug into his or her wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected $96, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman. The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of Edna and the dinner she would be able to share with her friends.
Easter came and went. A few days later, another letter came from the same old lady to God. All the workers gathered around with anticipation while the letter was opened. It read:
Dear God,
How can I ever thank you enough for getting my money back for me? Because of you, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day and I told my friends of your wonderful kindness... by the way, there was $4 missing... I think it might have been stolen by one of those jerks at the post office!
Sincerely,
Edna
Three old ladies were sitting at the dinner table discussing their problems with getting old. The first one said, "Sometimes I catch myself with a jar of mayonnaise in my hand, while standing in front of the refrigerator, and I can't remember whether I need to put it away, or start making a sandwich."
The second lady says, "Yes, sometimes I find myself on the landing of the stairs and can't remember whether I was on my way up or on my way down."
The third one says, " Well, ladies, I'm glad I don't have any of those problems, knock on wood." As she hit her knuckles on the table she looked up and said, "That must be the door... I'll get it!"
Dear Friends,
My wife is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, "Hey y'all, hold my beer and watch this!" Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes.
Last weekend I spied something at the pawn shop that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. Tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out - way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!!
Yipeeeeee... I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to my wife what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc. There I sat in my recliner, my cat looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not my cat) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping may cat for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet kitty, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time...
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no friggin' way!"
Friggin' way - trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I'm sitting there alone, my cat looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight—always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY CRAP!
DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. my cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!" (Note: if you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep in your thigh like yours truly.) SON-OF-A-BITCH that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure.
Film at eleven...
A little old lady was walking down the street dragging two large plastic garbage bags behind her. One of the bags was ripped and every once in a while a $20 fell out onto the sidewalk.
Noticing this, a policeman stopped her, and said, “Ma’am, there are $20 bills falling out of that bag.”
“Oh, really? Darn it!” said the little old lady. “I’d better go back and see if I can find them. Thanks for telling me, Officer.
“Well, now, not so fast,” said the cop.“Where did you get all that money? You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“Oh, no, no”, said the old lady. “You see, my back yard is right next to a golf course. A lot of golfers come and pee through a knot hole in my fence, right into my flower garden. It used to really tick me off. Kills the flowers, you know. Then I thought, why not make the best of it? So, now, I stand behind the fence by the knot hole, real quiet, with my hedge clippers. Every time some guy sticks his thing through my fence, I surprise him, grab hold of it and say, ‘Okay, buddy! Give me $20, or off it comes.'"
“Well, that seems only fair,” said the cop, laughing. “Okay, good luck! Oh, by the way, what’s in the other bag?”
“Not everybody pays.”
A father put his 3 year old daughter to bed, told her a story and listened to her prayers which ended by saying: “God bless Mommy, God bless Daddy, God bless Grandma and goodbye Grandpa.”
The father asked, “Why did you say goodbye Grandpa?”
The little girl said, “I don’t know, Daddy, it just seemed like the thing to do.”
The next day grandpa died. The father thought it was a strange coincidence.
A few months later the father put the girl to bed and listened to her prayers which went like this: “God bless Mommy, God Bless Daddy and goodbye Grandma.” The next day the grandmother died.
“Holy Moley, thought the father, this kid is in contact with the other side.
Several weeks later when the girl was going to bed the dad heard her say: “God bless Mommy and goodbye Daddy.” He practically went into shock.
He couldn’t sleep all night and got up at the crack of dawn to go to his office. He was nervous as a cat all day, had lunch and watched the clock. He figured if he could get by until midnight he would be okay. He felt safe in the office, so instead of going home at the end of the day he stayed there, drinking coffee, looking at his watch and jumping at every sound.
Finally, midnight arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief and went home. When he got home his wife said, “I’ve never seen you work so late, what’s the matter?”
He said, “I don’t want to talk about it, I’ve just spent the worst day of my life.”
She said, “You think you had a bad day? You’ll never believe what happened to me. This morning the mailman dropped dead on our porch!”
Once upon a time, there lived a man who had a terrible passion for baked beans. He loved them, but they always had an embarrassing and somewhat lively reaction on him.
One day he met a girl and fell in love. When it became apparent that they would marry, he thought to himself, she'll never go through with the marriage with me carrying on like this, so he made the supreme sacrifice and gave up beans.
Shortly after that they were married.
A few months later, on the way home from work, his car broke down and since they lived in the country, he called his wife and told her that he would be late because he had to walk. On his way home, he passed a small cafe and the wonderful aroma of baked beans overwhelmed him.
Since he still had several miles to walk he figured he could walk off any ill affects before he got home. So he went in and ordered, and before leaving had 3 extra large helpings of baked beans. All the way home he putt-putted. By the time he arrived home he felt reasonably safe.
His wife met him at the door and seemed somewhat excited. She exclaimed, "Darling, I have the most wonderful surprise for you for dinner tonight!" She put a blindfold on him, and led him to his chair at the head of the table and made him promise not to peek.
At this point he was beginning to feel another one coming on. Just as his wife was about to remove the blindfold, the telephone rang. She again made him promise not to peek until she returned, and away she went to answer the phone. While she was gone, he seized the opportunity. He shifted his weight to one leg and let go. It was not only loud, but ripe as a rotten egg. He had a hard time breathing, so he felt for his napkin and fanned the air about him.
He had just started to feel better, when another urge came on. He raised his leg and RRIIIPPPP !!! It sounded like a diesel engine revving, and smelled worse. To keep from gagging, he tried fanning his arms a while, hoping the smell would dissipate. He got another urge. This was a real blue ribbon winner, the windows shook, the dishes on the table rattled and a minute later the flowers on the table were dead.
While keeping an ear tuned in on the conversation in the hallway, and keeping his promise of staying blindfolded, he carried on like this for the next ten minutes, tooting and fanning each time with his napkin. When he heard the phone farewells he neatly laid his napkin on his lap and folded his hands on top of it. Smiling contentedly, he was the picture of innocence when his wife walked in.
Apologizing for taking so long, she asked if he had peeked at the dinner table. After assuring her he had not peeked, she removed the blindfold and yelled, "SURPRISE!!!"
To his shock and horror, there were twelve dinner guests seated around the table for his surprise birthday party.
So I had a feeling she was cheating as she set off a lot of red flags. Constantly laughing and smiling when texting, saying it was just her mother when I asked. Needing to stay late every night after work. When I'd call in her co-workers said she left hours ago. When I asked her what was going on she'd laugh it off and say it was just something they did to each other at the office all the time.
The last straw to where I knew something was definitely up was when she went out "to get milk" at 11:30 at night and didn't come back until 2 in the morning. Now if there is any words of wisdom I can pass on to others in all my years of experience, it's if you think your significant other is cheating, hire a private investigator. They're good at what they do and they will get some evidence that really helps in the later divorce.
Fast track to her birthday, several months down the road. Now I know what you're thinking, why the hell did I wait months before I confronted her and did it really need to be on her birthday? The answer to the first question is I wanted as much evidence as possible to hand off to my lawyer as well as make arrangements to find a new place to live, etc. Answer to your second question is, of course it had to be on her birthday. You see after asking her what she wanted to do on her birthday this year she was rather insistent on me going out of town with my friends as she just had to work anyways and didn't want to be reminded she was aging.
So I know something is up and after finding a bottle of champagne and two glasses hidden in my closest something in me snaps. So I do what any sensible man would have done. I leave and go to my friends house pretending like I am going out of town. While there I call up her mother, father, sister and several of her friends. I tell them how I want to give her a big surprise by sneaking into her room with party streamers, kazoos and a big cake with candles. Sounds fun right? Well, boy was it!
I had everyone meet me outside our apartment at 8:30 in the morning. We all pile in the elevator (about 8 of us in total); her mother is holding the cake and I'm reminding everyone to be as quiet as they can be. I put my key in and unlock the door; we all sneak in and make our way down the hall towards the bedroom. Each holding a kazoo and her mom holding the cake grinning from ear to ear.
Well, as I throw open the door, we all yell surprise!
But, the surprise was on us and there was my wife, stark naked with her lover staring at us wide eyed. Mom drops the cake, sister screams, father begins to shout. I pretend like I'm horrified to which her friends try to push everyone out while yelling at her. My wife, excuse me, now ex-wife is sobbing and screaming how could I while the lover is desperately trying to put his pants on while running out of the place. Needless to say, this and the divorce were two of the best birthday presents ever given.
A young man wanted to purchase a gift for his new sweetheart's birthday, and as they had not been dating very long, after careful consideration he decided a pair of gloves would strike just the right note: romantic, but not too personal.
Accompanied by his sweetheart's younger sister, he went to Nordstrom's and bought a pair of white gloves. The sister purchased a pair of panties for herself. During the wrapping the clerk mixed up the items and the sister got the gloves and the sweetheart got the panties.
Without checking the contents, the young man sealed the package and sent it to his sweetheart along with this note:
"I chose these because I noticed that you are not in the habit of wearing any when we go out in the evening. If it had not been for your sister I would have chosen the long ones with the buttons, but she wears the short ones that are easier to remove.
These are a delicate shade, but the lady I bought them from showed me the pair she had been wearing for the past three weeks and they were hardly soiled. I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart.
I wish I was there to put them on for you the first time, as no doubt other hands will come in contact with them before I have a chance to see you again. When you take them off, remember to blow in them before putting them away as they will naturally be a little damp from wearing.
Just think how many times I will kiss them during the coming year. I hope you will wear them for me on Friday night.
All my love,
P.S. The latest style is to wear them folded down with a little fur showing."
A woman was sitting at a bar enjoying an after-work cocktail with her girlfriends when an exceptionally tall, handsome, extremely sexy young man entered. He was so striking that the woman could not take her eyes away from him.
The young man noticed her overly attentive stare and walked directly toward her. Before she could offer her apologies for being so rude for staring, the young man said to her, "I'll do anything, absolutely anything, that you want me to do, no matter how kinky, for $100, on one condition."
Flabbergasted, the woman asked what the condition was.
The young man replied, "You have to tell me what you want me to do in just three words."
The woman considered his proposition for a moment, withdrew from her purse and slowly counted out five $20 bills, which she pressed into the young man's hand along with her address. She looked deeply into his eyes and slowly, meaningfully said, "Clean my house."
"$5.37." That's what the kid behind the counter at Taco Bell said to me. I dug into my pocket and pulled out some lint and two dimes and something that used to be a Jolly Rancher. Having already handed the kid a five-spot, I started to head back out to the truck to grab some change, when the kid with the Elmo hairdo said the harshest thing anyone has ever said to me.
He said, "It's OK. I'll just give you the senior citizen discount." I turned to see who he was talking to and then heard the sound of change hitting the counter in front of me. "Only $4.68," he said cheerfully.
I stood there stupefied. I am 58, not even 60 yet. A mere child! Senior citizen? I took my burrito and walked out to the truck, wondering what was wrong with Elmo. Was he blind? As I sat in the truck, my blood began to boil. Old? Me? I'll show him, I thought. I opened the door and headed back inside. I strode to the counter, and there he was waiting with a smile. Before I could say a word, he held up something and jingled it in front of me, like I could be that easily distracted! What am I now? A toddler? "Dude! Can't get too far without your car keys, eh?"
I stared with utter disdain at the keys. I began to rationalize in my mind. "Leaving keys behind hardly makes a man elderly! It could happen to anyone!" I turned and headed back to the truck. I slipped the key into the ignition, but it wouldn't turn.
What now? I checked my keys and tried another. Still nothing. That's when I noticed the purple beads hanging from my rearview mirror. I had no purple beads hanging from my rearview mirror.
Then, a few other objects came into focus. The car seat in the back seat. Happy Meal toys spread all over the floorboard. A partially eaten doughnut on the dashboard. Faster than you can say ginkgo biloba, I flew out of the alien vehicle. Moments later I was speeding out of the parking lot, relieved to finally be leaving this nightmarish stop in my life. That is when I felt it, deep in the bowels of my stomach: hunger! My stomach growled and churned, and I reached to grab my burrito, only it was nowhere to be found.
I swung the truck around, gathered my courage, and strode back into the restaurant one final time. There Elmo stood, draped in youth and black nail polish. All I could think was, "What is the world coming to?" All I could say was, "Did I leave my food and drink in here?" At this point I was ready to ask a Boy Scout to help me back to my vehicle, and then go straight home and apply for Social Security benefits.
Elmo had no clue. I walked back out to the truck, and suddenly a young lad came up and tugged on my jeans to get my attention. He was holding up a drink and a bag. His mother explained, "I think you left this in my truck by mistake." I took the food and drink from the little boy and sheepishly apologized. He offered these kind words, "It's OK. My grandfather does stuff like this all the time." All of this is to explain how I got a ticket doing 85 in a 40. Yes, I was racing some punk kid in a Toyota Prius. And, no, I told the officer, I'm not too old to be driving this fast. As I walked in the front door, my wife met me halfway down the hall. I handed her a bag of cold food and a $300 speeding ticket. I promptly sat in my rocking chair and covered up my legs with a blankey. The good news was I had successfully found my way home.
The worried housewife sprang to the telephone when it rang and listened with relief to the kindly voice in her ear. "How are you, darling?" it said. "What kind of a day are you having?"
"Oh, mother," said the housewife, breaking into bitter tears, "I've had such a bad day. The baby won't eat and the washing machine broke down. I haven't had a chance to go shopping, and besides, I've just sprained my ankle and I have to hobble around. On top of that, the house is a mess and I'm supposed to have two couples to dinner tonight."
The mother was shocked and was at once all sympathy. "Oh, darling," she said, "Sit down, relax, and close your eyes. I'll be over in half an hour. I'll do your shopping, clean up the house, and cook your dinner for you. I'll feed the baby and I'll call a repairman I know who'll be at your house to fix the washing machine promptly. Now stop crying. I'll do everything. In fact, I'll even call George at the office and tell him he ought to come home and help out for once."
"George?" said the housewife. "Who's George?"
"Why, George! Your husband! Is this 223-1374?"
"No, this is 223-1375."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I have the wrong number."
There was a short pause and the housewife said, "Does this mean you're not coming over?"
So you think your job sucks? Well, spare a thought for Rob. Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest. Needless to say, she won!
Hi Sue,
Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me,I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea, and heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet-suit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.
Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch.. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet.. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber.
The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut. So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt. Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."
Last week I purchased a burger at Burger King for $1.58. The counter girl took my $2—meanwhile I was digging for my change when I pulled 8 cents from my pocket and gave it to her. She stood there, holding the nickel and 3 pennies, while looking at the screen on her register. I sensed her discomfort and tried to tell her to just give me two quarters, but she called the manager for help. While he tried to explain the transaction to her, she stood there and finally cried. Why do I tell you this? Because of the evolution in teaching math since the 1950s:
1. Teaching Math In The 1950s
A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price. What is his profit ?
2. Teaching Math In The 1960s
A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of the price, or $80. What is his profit?
3. Teaching Math In The 1970s
A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80. Did he make a profit?
4. Teaching Math In The 1980s
A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80 and his profit is $20. Your assignment: Underline the number 20.
5. Teaching Math In The 1990s
A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands. He does this so he can make a profit of $20.. What do you think of this way of making a living?
Topic for class participation after answering the question: How did the birds and squirrels feel as the logger cut down their homes? (There are no wrong answers; if you feel like crying, it's OK.)
Teaching Math In The 2000s
Who cares, just steal the lumber from your rich neighbor's property. He won't have a gun to stop you, and the Government says it's okay anyway because it is redistributing the wealth of the country.
I was out walking with my 4 year old daughter. She picked up something off the ground and started to put it in her mouth. I took the item away from her and I asked her not to do that.
"Why?" my daughter asked.
"Because it's been on the ground, you don't know where it's been, it's dirty, and probably has germs" I replied.
At this point, my daughter looked at me with total admiration and asked, "Mommy, how do you know all this stuff, you are so smart."
I was thinking quickly. "All moms know this stuff. It's on the Mommy Test. You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mommy." We walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but she was evidently pondering this new information.
"OH... I get it!" she beamed, "So if you don't pass the test you have to be the daddy."
"Exactly" I replied back with a big smile on my face.
A woman named Emily, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a...?"
"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."
"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation... 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."
"What is your occupation?" she probed.
What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."
The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right.
I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.
"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, in the laboratory and in the field. I'm working for my Masters, and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day. But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door. As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."
Motherhood... What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door. Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!!! I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants."
Please send this to another Mother, Grandmother, Aunt, and other friends you know! They will be delighted with their "new" position in life!
Millions of dollars are generated by the relationship advice industry and people are always looking for ways to improve their relationships. Love can be difficult, as it leaves countless people confused. That's why we are always looking for an easy way to understand the opposite sex.
Where does this 12 year-old boy come into it? Well, he cracked the code! He knows the key to understanding women.... this book should be stocked in the 'self-help' section of all bookstores.
