Nobody EVER takes me seriously. Not even my children when they were growing up. They were acting up at the dinner table & I told them VERY sternly to stop. They started laughing at me! I guess it could have been because I was holding a plastic party glass (the kind you have to put together) of red wine while I was scolding them. I was holding it cupped in my hand with 2 fingers on either side of the stem, which had stayed on the table when I lifted the glass. I was fuming & they were laughing as the wine was slowly but steadily flowing out of the small hole in bottom of the glass. Therefore, this is my new philosophy:
Joan Rivers’ painter apparently took her seriously when she wanted him to paint her kitchen yellow. She pulled a hair out of her head & handed it to him. She told him she wanted the kitchen to match it exactly. She went out & when she came home she had a kitchen with yellow walls & a black ceiling.
The Smithsonian Institute found themselves overstocked & held a sale to get rid of some excess paraphernalia from the original “Star Trek” series. A woman made a serious (?) bid to buy the “Enterprise”. There was one contingency to her offer—the transporters had to be functional!
Both my father & my father-in-law took themselves seriously as home repairmen, until…. My dad was painting our kitchen & he stepped back to look at his work. He stepped into the full roller tray. That wouldn’t have been so bad but he did it twice! My father-in-law had a broken window in the front of his house, which he decided to replace himself. He had new glass cut to fit, which he laid on the front lawn. He carefully took out the old window, making sure none of the broken glass fell out, & went to put it down on the grass. You guessed it—he stepped on & broke the replacement glass!
I was VERY pregnant with our first child & I was helping Bud out in his office. I was in the library doing some filing when he met with a client I didn’t know. Bud brought him into his office, passing by the library. He was complaining to the client that he was very busy. He said, “I have to do EVERYTHING around here!” The client apparently didn’t take him seriously because he said, “Yeah, I bet you even had to knock up that girl in the library!” Bud answered, “Well, as a matter of fact….!”
I hoped I could take Bud seriously, but I had my doubts when he said he could take care of our one month old daughter himself so I could have a break & go out to lunch with my mom. I shouldn’t have worried. When we got back, she was peacefully asleep. It was where she was sleeping that showed his confidence in himself. Bud was sitting at the dining room table completely absorbed in some accounting work. He was hitting the keys on the adding machine with his right hand while looking at the ledger book, which was lying on the table. His left elbow was resting on the table with his forearm held up at about a 45 degree angle. She was lying on his arm with her head cupped firmly in his hand. Neither my mom nor I had any doubts about his childcare abilities after that. Below is an artist’s rendering of the event:
On one of our early trips to Hawaii, probably around 1968, we went to dinner at Michel’s at the Colony Surf Hotel. Our friends had told us it was wonderful. It was quite upscale--& expensive. It was one of the very few places in Hawaii where men were required to wear a tie. We got there a few minutes before our reservation time & waited--& waited. When we were finally seated, we waited to get a menu. Then we waited to place our orders. When the food came, the orders were wrong. There were chiefs all around, but no Indians. We couldn’t get anyone’s attention. The maître d’ was making a brief stop at every table. When he got to ours, he smiled & asked, “How is everything?” I replied honestly, “Terrible!” He smiled again, said, “Thank you” & went on to the next table. Bud & I sat there with our mouths hanging open. I just Googled it—it’s still in operation. I can only assume they’ve replaced the maître d’, the chef & the waitstaff.
We have a friend who was a shrink in Beverly Hills. I guess his wife didn’t take him too seriously when he bought himself a motorcycle—a big Harley “hog”. She bought him a black leather jacket & had his name put on it. Actually, it wasn’t his name, it was the initials “BSBHP”—Big Shot Beverly Hills Psychiatrist. He liked it so much he got a personalized license plate for the “hog”.
Seriously, I AM fishducky.