(Reworked form a 2013 post &, as always, with new cartoons)
I’ve
found a solution to my major problem, & to think it came from that smartass know-it-all genius Bart Simpson. Even a used
brain would be fine, but I don’t have access to pathology labs. Can
anyone help me? Here’s all I would have to do:
Or
maybe I don’t really need one.
He
seems fine!!
I
was taking my shower this morning & I got to wondering (now you see why I
want that brain) if everybody washes their body in the same order or is it just
me? I got in the shower, took my sponge
in my left hand & washed the entire right side of my upper body. (I’m left handed so I always wash my right
side first.) Then I switched the sponge to
my right hand & washed my upper left side.
Back it went into my left hand & I washed my right leg, then back
again for my right leg. Am I the only
one who does this--which wouldn’t surprise me--or do normal people have a set
routine for bathing, too?
Speaking
of wanting and/or needing a brain, my father’s lady friend, Dorothy, was not
the sharpest knife in the drawer. She
& my dad were with us when we took the entire family on an Alaskan cruise. On the cruise with us, but not as our guests, were Lady Bird
Johnson (the widow of President Lyndon Johnson) & her contingent of Secret
Service agents. Prior to setting off,
everyone had to attend the lifeboat drill.
We were standing next to Mrs. Johnson during the drill. Her face was apparently familiar to Dorothy,
who turned to her & said, “I know
you from somewhere! Are you a customer
at Steve’s Beauty Salon in Hollywood?”
Mrs. Johnson sweetly replied, “No, dear—I’m from Texas!”
This
is the patch we had made
for
our “uniform” jackets & caps:
Another
example of someone who could use a brain insertion: My dad used to work in my
uncle’s grocery store. One day a man
came in & asked for half & half.
Nothing odd about that, right? Wrong!!
He pronounced it “Haff & Hoff”!! Maybe he had one British parent.
And
someone I wished had a brain (& a
heart): Bud & I ran the local Cub Scout pack. At an assembly in the school auditorium we
asked each boy’s parents to register & to tell us what they could do to
help. The attorney father of one boy
wrote on his slip, “Can’t help. Work
full time.” Our boys were then 8 years
old—nobody we knew was yet retired!! He
refused to even give us his phone number in case of an emergency. His son was in my den. We held our meetings in the evening. One evening it was pouring rain—much too
heavy for the boys to come over. We
called everyone but him to cancel. His
dad buzzed by & dropped him off before I could catch him. His son had to call him for a ride home. Later that evening I got a call from his
father, who was irate. He yelled at me
for making him go out twice in the storm when there wasn’t even a meeting that
night! How inconsiderate of me!!
Good luck on getting this song out of your head:
A schematic of my brain:
I'd explain how my brain works, but then yours would explode----fishducky
