Deer On Board...Observations From The Road

I was on my way home from the hospital visiting a sick relative the other day when I saw something that caught my eye. I was driving north on Interstate 75 out of Atlanta in eights lanes of stop-n-go traffic just minding my own business and avoiding getting run over by a tractor trailer. In between two semis I happened to glimpse a pickup truck with some kind of cage in the back. It wasn't a dog kennel; it seemed to be very large and looked rather old, I wasn't quite sure what it was. I became a rubber-necker. I was craning my head this way and I was trying to speed up but I had this 1982 Chevette in front of me that was barely making five mph. This went on for several miles and traffic finally broke free. The truck was on my right side and I was about to pass it; I wanted to see what was in the cage. What was it? It was big and looked like it had grayish brown hair. I just saw the side of it. Too big for a dog and too small for a cow. I was stumped. Suddenly, I had to apply the brakes again and the truck passed me. I was getting ready to look in the cage again when I noticed a neon sign in the back window. What did it say? Deer on Board! You remember those signs from the early 90s that read Baby on Board doncha'. I guess the drivers of the truck were tired of all the oddball looks they had been getting for driving around with an unusual looking animal in the back. Deer on Board...problem solved.

Before Or After

I was getting ready to take a shower the other day (Yes, the MA Fat Woman likes to bathe) and I observed something that got me to thinking about something. I get in the tub first and then I turn on the water and set it to the proper temperature. I get in a position where my backside is almost facing the faucet and reach down to pull up the thingy to turn on the shower. I do this as quickly as I can and then jump to the farthest point away from the showerhead and wait for the water to get hot. There’s always an ice cold blast of water for about three seconds before it gets hot. I cringe and shrink as much as I can but it always makes me shiver. I’m not sure why I do it this way. My mom and I had a conversation about this and she turns on the shower before she gets in; she isn’t sure why she does it that way. I’m sure there is a government agency somewhere that has or is planning to do a research study and waste millions of dollars on this subject. So, save the government a little money and the next time you get ready to take a shower, stop and ask yourself this question: Do you turn the shower on before or after you get in the tub? And why do you do it that way. Leave me a comment and tell me why!

Pootability 101

I mentioned in the past about my cat that likes to join me out on the porch to view the different seens. He has a black and white coat and always looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo. All dressed up and nowhere to go. He showed up outside my house about fourteen years ago and was begging to come inside. I decided to take him in and for fourteen years he has wanted to go back out. We’ll sit a spell out on the porch and every once in a while we’ll take a walk down to the old chicken house to see what’s prowling around. He leads a very complicated life. He eats the same exact brand of cat food and has for the past fourteen years. He doesn’t like change but he does like to pee in the woods. I prefer cats over dogs, that’s just who I am. I had a dog that was an inside dog once; that dog could drop bombs or biscuits at the drop of a hat. Phewww!! That dog could clear a room with a simple poot. Luckily, I have never had that problem with my cat. When we’re not out on the porch I am kicked back in the recliner tapping away on the laptop which is on the left side of my lap and the cat is on the other side. I got a lapful. For the past few months I had been noticing that something just didn’t smell right. I thought I must have really bad breath. Mom was over visiting one evening and I breathed on her to see if it was me or not. It wasn’t. Every time I smelled that awful smell the cat was sitting on my lap. It had to be him because I wasn’t going to admit to anything. You know the sayings: Smellers-the fellers, whoever smelt it, dealt it. It took my cat fourteen years to discover his pootability. Maybe, I’ll let him back outside.

Picture Retake Day

I was driving around town tending to a few errands the other day when I drove past the local elementary school. There wasn’t anything unusual about that, but what caught my attention was the sign reminding all of the students and all of the passersby that Picture Retake Day was coming up in a few days. This simple statement reminded me of a story from my childhood and absolutely tickled me silly. Picture Retake Day! The year was 1974 and I was in the second grade. I remember that year exceptionally well because something major happened to me. After getting tested at school it was determined that I needed to get glasses. This event happens to thousands of people every day and isn’t normally a big deal. But, when you’re only seven years old getting glasses is really a big deal. All of your fellow classmates know all of the cruel nicknames such as four eyes, pop bottle head, and, my favorite, fish eyes. Children can be so receptive and cruel at that age. The glasses that I chose were gold wire rimmed frames with egg-shaped lenses. Hey, it was 1974. I hated them almost immediately. After the novelty of them wore off, I found that they gave me a terrible headache. I took them to school but they were seldom worn. It came time for me to have my picture taken at school that year and I remember walking up on the stage where the photographer was situated. I was holding my glasses in my hand unsure where to put them while I had my picture taken. The photographer told me to put them on; after all, they belonged on my face he said. Six weeks later when the pictures came back I got the shock of my life. My pictures were terrible, absolutely awful—I looked just like all of those things that my friends had teased me about. I cried. I wouldn’t trade photos with any of my friends. My mom didn’t think that it was a bad picture. Of course, she wouldn’t because she’s my mom you know. I begged and pleaded with her to let me get my picture retaken on Picture Retake Day. She reluctantly agreed and I began to plan out what I was going to wear and certainly remember to leave those blasted spectacles at home. Picture Retake Day was scheduled for the middle of January. Now, living in southern Ohio in the middle of January can present several problems, namely, snow. Wouldn’t you know it, a major snowstorm dumped over a foot of snow on the farm and we were out of school for three days. The Picture Retake Day couldn’t be rescheduled because the photographer was booked for the rest of the school year. I was left with the worst school picture ever, and possibly the worst picture that I have ever posed for, sober anyway.

What I Walked Into

One happened to me the other day has probably happened to almost everyone who might find themselves reading this story. However, there are exceptions to every rule. The exceptions are those of you that are afraid to use public restrooms, water closets, loos, or whatever else they might be called around the world. Luckily, I don’t have this problem. I had been visiting a sick friend at the hospital and was on my way out of the building when I decided to pay a visit to the ladies room. I spied those helpful signs pointing me to the correct door and I walked right in. Oh my Goodness! Oh my Goodness! I had walked into the most disgusting, awful smelling, eye watering stench that I had ever smelled. It made my knees weak. I had broken my cardinal rule: I never use a bathroom that has only one stall. The stench can get stuck in there for days. I don’t know who the culprit was; I guess I shouldn’t say that, because it is a bathroom after all. All I know is I hate to do that to other people that’s why I carry one of those miniature Lysol sprays around with me. It’s common courtesy—strike a match---spray some perfume—do anything. Just don’t leave it hanging there for someone, namely me, to walk into.

Friday Night In Atlanta

It seems that my mother and me have been spending an awful lot of time together lately which is a good thing I guess. After our two consecutive weekend attempts of yard selling together we thought we would each do our own thing this weekend. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I haven't been around much lately because I've been tending to a sick family member. Things were going as smoothly as could be expected when hospital staff decided that a transfer to a bigger hospital was needed, in Atlanta, which is 75 miles away, on a Friday night. I used to go out in Atlanta years ago before I became the MA Fat Woman. I used to be known as the twenty-something chunky gal heretofore known as Thunder Thighs. I used to love going to night clubs and all of that jazz then I realized it was a waste of money. I could buy a six pack, turn up my radio real loud, smoke a pack of cigarettes in 3 hours and get the same effect at home without worrying how I was going to get home from the club. That being said, I don't come to Atlanta very often. It's usually just passing through on my way to Florida. It's not a bad place, the traffic is horrendous and there is always a traffic jam somewhere, day or night. I usually get in the far left lane and go as fast as possible to get the hell out of there. Anyhow, after several hours of negotiating construction sites, Friday night party goers and reversible traffic lanes, we finally made it to the hospital at 1:00 AM. My mom was riding in the ambulance and I was following in the little red Mustang. You know, I almost outran that ambulance. I kept having to put on my brakes, and waiting on them to catch up. I think they saw me pass them one time because all of a sudden, they took off like a shot and I had to floor it to keep up. I was following the ambulance with my hazard lights flashing, we passed 3 cops and not one of them looked our way and we were going 85 in a 55. I guess I have found another way to get through Atlanta traffic--find an ambulance and follow it.

Somedays You Just Need A Laugh

Somedays, you just need to hear something funny. I hope this makes you laugh. A blonde woman was speeding down the road in her little red sports car and was pulled over by a policewoman, who was also blonde. The blonde officer asked to see the blonde driver's license. She dug through her purse and was getting progressively more agitated. "What does it look like?" she finally asked. "It's square and it has your picture on it," replied the policewoman. The driver finally found a square mirror, looked at it and handed it to the policewoman. "Here it is," she said. The blonde officer looked at the mirror, then handed it back saying, "Okay, you can go. I didn't realize you were a cop."