Now That's Love

A certain friend of mine tends to have hilarious conversations with her husband about ridiculous hypothetical situations. For example, after making the bed recently, one of them commented that leaving a pillow underneath the covers made it look like someone was still sleeping in it. They then imagined how horrified they would be if someone wasn't just sleeping there, but had actually died. After discussing it further, the scenario eventually evolved into this conversation.

WIFE:  "What would you do if we came home and found a dead hobo in our bed?"

HUSBAND:  [thinks for a minute] "Well, first of all, I'd never let you see it."

WIFE:  "How would you keep me out of the bedroom?"

HUSBAND:  "I'd send you to the grocery store. I'd say we needed eggs."

WIFE:  "And what would you do while I was gone?"

HUSBAND:  "I'd call the cops and get everything taken care of. And then when you got back, I'd say, 'Guess what? We're staying at the Hampton Inn tonight!'"

I don't know about you, but I think this one's a keeper.

OMG, Where Was the Second Needle?!

The last sentence is really the kicker.

April 14 (AP) A woman in Pittsburgh who said she'd been stabbed with a knitting needle is in critical condition following emergency surgery. Police spokeswoman Diane Richard says the 27-year-old woman walked into UPMC Presbyterian hospital about 9:35 p.m. Wednesday and told security guards she had been stabbed before she collapsed. Richard says doctors treated the woman for a knitting needle lodged in her abdomen and later found another knitting needle inside her body, though police aren't releasing details about the second needle.

I Got the DTs in my 2Ts

One of the greatest news stories ever. From April 11th.

(Reuters) On Friday, Taylor Dill-Reese went to an Applebee's in Madison Heights, Michigan, where -- among other things -- she ordered her 15-month-old son Dominick an apple juice. What the little boy apparently got instead was a margarita.

Why doesn't this kind of stuff ever happen to adults? How super duper would it be to say, "I'll have a Coke," and then, when you take your first drink . . . surprise, there's rum in there!

His mom told WDIV-TV that she only realized something was wrong when Dominick "kind of laid his head on the table and dozed off a little bit and woke up and got real happy."

OK, first, the kid drank it without complaint. Which was smart, if you think about it, because it seems like he enjoyed it. I certainly wouldn't grimace at my free booze, immediately call over a waiter, and demand plain ol' soda. 

Second, the kid napped and rallied, which I love. But not as much as this:

The little boy reportedly began hailing strangers, too.

Ah, a lovable, gregarious drunk in diapers. The best kind. Entertaining and no messy cleanup. I can only imagine what the baby-slur translated as:

"Hey! You! . . Yeah, you! Commeer! Yer not gonna believe this. This joooose . . . apple . . . I always get apple, and it tastes like apple, ya know? But this . . . this shit is CRAZY, man! Am I right? Shhhhhhhhhh! What a baby gotta do to get a refill? Recognize myself in a mirror? Done! That's me, there I am, and I am lovin' this sippy cup today, man! LOVIN' it!"

The company said it would change the way it serves juice to youngsters to eliminate the chance of any mixups that could result in any more toddlers receiving mixed drinks.

Oh, but then how would we get news bulletins like this in the future? Don't rain on my parade, Applebee's. Keep up the good work.

The Grass is Always Greener

I was reminded of this little chestnut tonight. A friend of mine has a pal in her apartment complex who spends a great deal of time with Mary Jane. Theirs is the kind of relationship most strive for: intense yet non-committal, centered around Doritos and feelin' groovy.

Returning home from work one day, my friend noted a very distinct aroma emanating not from her pal's apartment, but from somewhere down the hall. Knowing that this was information her pal would want, she immediately sent him a text announcing that someone else in the building definitely had weed.

Except, instead of sending the message to her ganja-puffing pal, she accidentally sent the text to another friend whose name was just one letter off. It was a friend from high school whom she hadn't spoken to in months.

The reply?

"SWEET! Get me some!"

Some friends are just keepers.

Small Humiliations: Part XI

The recent onset of "spring" has me thinking about sneezes.

I put "spring" in quotes because, though the hometown baseball season started today and I haven't scraped my windshield in a couple weeks, I remain skeptical. We've been burned by you before, Old Man Winter! You lull us into complacency with the sight of grass and the euphoria of shedding heavy down coats. And in the joyous fog of walking to work in actual shoes ... yes, the very same shoes we'll wear all day long ... we start believing we can do crazy things like plan road trips and park on both sides of the street. We dare to dream!

And if you don't hit us with a final, random, soul-crushing snowfall, and instead retire to what I can only assume would be an icy, icy bed ... well, there's still allergy season.

Which brings me back to the sneezes.

I can think of one truly epic sneeze that still makes me laugh every time I recall it. Naturally, it occurred on the bus and was made even funnier because of that particular locale.

One morning, I felt a tickle begin in my nose. Even though I quickly realized it was probably going to be a full-blown (pun intended) event, I tried my best to stifle it. Because let's be honest, nobody is ever thrilled when someone really honks one on public transportation. You can aim that sneeze into a tissue or into your sleeve, but all anyone is thinking about are those little germy particles floating around in a confined space.

So I pinched my mouth shut and closed my eyes and fought it back. It looked like I was having a mini-seizure, but it worked. Or so I thought. In the brief moment that I relaxed with relief, the sneeze came back. With a vengeance. It now caught me completely off-guard, and I had even less control than usual.

I don't think I can do justice in print to the sound that came out of my mouth, but the closest approximation is probably a very loud, very high-pitched "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Despite my good intentions, I was now the girl who suffered a mini-seizure and then screamed at my fellow riders for no apparent reason.

The scream even scared me. And then, because I was so embarrassed, I closed my eyes immediately and pretended that nothing had happened. As if the people around me wouldn't notice that I was red in the face and giggling uncontrollably.

So, to sum it up: seizure, frightening verbal outburst in public, laughing to myself while "sleeping." It's a wonder I'm still single.

Small Humiliations: Part X

When my sister was in her teens, she and a friend decided to hit the library one afternoon. On their way, they stopped to buy some snacks. This was especially daring, since there was no food or drink allowed in the building, but being the rebels they were, they decided to risk it. 

They settled in at a table and felt like downright villains as they snuck clandestine treats from their backpacks while reading. It was a small town ... you took your thrills where you could find them. I'm still shocked and amazed at a friend of mine who once stuck a piece of used chewing gum between the pages of a book. Shocked because she'd dare to do it, and amazed because nobody hauled her away in handcuffs. She left that library unshackled and continues to walk among us a free woman to this day.

Anyway, my sister's friend had chosen for one of her treats a pack of candy cigarettes, and sometime between The Babysitter's Club and the latest Sweet Valley High volume, she decided to bust those bad boys out. Still trying to be secretive, she slipped her hand into her bag, located the small box, brought a thin stick quickly to her lips and bit into it with a satisfying crunch.

A pause, then a horrified whisper.

"Meghan! . . . . . I just ate chalk!"

What's the lesson here? Maybe that cigarettes are bad in all forms. Or maybe that you shouldn't break the rules. Or maybe that you should just look before you bite, lest you ingest your own school supplies. Take your pick, America.

Small Humiliations: Part IX

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine embarked on a quest to find some new jeans. She walked into the department store dressing room with an armful of items and proceeded to the first available empty stall. Once inside, she went to lock the door behind her, not realizing that there was a full-length mirror attached to the back. As she turned, she mistook herself for another person, thinking that she'd mistakenly entered a dressing room that was already occupied and ... this is the best part ... apologized to her own reflection.

Let me just say that again, in case you missed it. This friend glanced at herself in a mirror, didn't recognize her reflection, frightened herself, and said to her image, "Oh! I'm sorry!"

It should come as no surprise that the person staring back at her simply stood there bewildered for a moment before bursting into embarrassed laughter.

He's Just Not My Typo

And now it's time to play one of my favorite games of all time . . . type the beginning of a question into a web browser and see what's tippity-top on the minds of people searching for answers.

Today's initial phrase: Why can't I have

The first result: Why can't I have an organism

This was followed by a link with the title "Why can't some women have an organism? And what is the cause?"

Ah, yes, the elusive organism. Never around when you need one. Unless, of course, you're blessed with multiple organisms, in which case you may need to get a bigger apartment.

I was going to respond to this astute query on Yahoo Answers, but I was laughing too hard.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: spelling matters. Sometimes it matters BIG. Sometimes it's the difference between a moment of exquisite pleasure and mitochondria. I'm just sayin'.