Clyde and Phyllis

When I was little I used to listen to a record called Clyde and Phyllis. It was a musical about an ant and an elephant falling in love. A potentially tragic love, because, as the song says "an ant and an elephant just can't wed, for one little hug and Phyllis would be dead".

The album is not available anywhere now. Not on CD, not on vinyl. Not even on vinyl on ebay! As it turns out, however, I still have my copy. Which is amazing in and of itself, but the best part, is that even as I type this my album is in the sound and moving image department being recorded onto CD. So the story is not lost!

And what happens to the terribly groovy Clyde and the lovely Phyllis? Clyde decides to be an astronaut to get over his broken heart when the man in the moon tells him he and Phyllis should live in space together. He and Phyllis can live weightlessly in space, happy forever. Or for the nanosecond before they're dead, what with no oxygen and all. But hey, it is a kids album, we weren't supposed to be thinking about things like that!

All in all, I am thrilled. Which is perhaps an indication of my need to get out more.

Intervention May be Required

This is what my beloved girl said to me last Friday:
"What made you think that kid's paper cutting scissors would do a better job on your hair than the kitchen shears did the last time you cut your own hair? Are you nuts?"

I don't know. As God is my witness, I don't know why I do these things.

How Much is that Doggy in the Window?

I was going to post this story that at first blush was kind of funny, but really it is just sad. So yes, you'll get to hear about my Safeway encounter but I’m afraid you won’t be laughing at it. Or maybe you will, who knows?

So there I was at Safeway, at the book/magazine rack in the bakery section (which is the only logical place to put books). There is a guy next to me looking for whatever, and this is what we were BOTH subjected to by his Missus:

Are you done? Because I am.
Now are you done?
What are you looking for, I’ll find it because I’m tired of waiting (they had been there maybe ONE MINUTE)
Fine, I’m going to go.
Seriously I’m going to go.

Now at this point I am feeling pretty bad for the guy, but I’m not looking at him, or even at her. She leaves. For maybe fifteen seconds. And then she returns and she’s back at it:

Oh God, I left and you STILL DIDN’T COME. What is wrong with you? We’re leaving, and I mean now!!!!!! (At which point I realize that she has a child in the cart with her. A child that – if it is a girl – will grow up to be a high maintenance nightmare, or – if it is a guy – a spineless wimp).

Now, this last was said in the tone some parents use with their five year olds (and they shouldn’t). And here she was using it on a partner, presumably someone she loved, at one point. I made the mistake of looking at him, not realizing my face must have been full of sympathy for him, and shock at her bitchiness. Because just looking over at him earned me a “what are YOU looking at?” complaint from her. Lordy day it was tempting to say something along the lines of “I’m looking at the man that you are slowly wearing into the ground. Don’t complain when he looks for happiness outside the marriage” but I figured that would be hurtful to the guy who was clearly suffering enough, and I was actually too gob smacked to come up with anything clever. I’ve seen dogs at the pound that haven’t looked as desperately sad as this man.

Leprechauns in the House

Or maybe some really obscure (and uncalled for) appliance curse. No, I kiddeth not. Little did I know when I complained about the fridge, dishwasher and dryer all dying at the same time that the wee ones weren't finished with me yet.

My stove died on Saturday. Permanently? Who knows. I fixed it enough to bake some shrimp in garlic sauce that night, in the belief that seafood makes it all better. I even topped the meal off with a single piece of Lindt chocolate. Because what seafood doesn't fix, chocolate surely will.

Abracadabra

Well. Who thought that there would be anything humourous in a collection about land, easements and water control. Not me. And yet here I am, with a file labelled "Druid Flood Control".