Being in my fifties and happily married for 38 years, I admit there are days when my normal beauty routine takes a back seat to comfort, convenience and a why bother attitude. My pedicure is in need of a touch up and no, it wouldn’t hurt to retire those comfy yoga pants that are wearing a bit thin in places.
Our house is a no judgement zone but clearly my news feed is not. They’re constantly bombarding me with ridiculous articles and ads pushing the idea that I’ll never be pretty, thin or young enough.
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I have special conditioners for my hair, my face, my hands and my feet… for the love of God, I do not need one for my eyebrows.
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I fear for this generation. I really do.
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Did they really say mature women with a straight face? No one wants to see mature women in a pair of Daisy Dukes and a sleeveless top cut down to there. Don’t believe me? Go shopping at Wal Mart on a warm summer afternoon.
It’s long been a dream of mine to see … no, not Istanbul or Rome, I’m a simple girl. I only want to see the cellar floor again.
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When we moved into this house 20 years ago we had a gloriously empty 2,000 square foot basement… and I had visions of carefully organized storage shelves so our closets would never burst open again. Sadly this never came to fruition because my husband filled it to the brim with crap, clutter, things he didn’t need and will never use stuff in no time flat. And when I say filled, I mean up to the rafters with barely a path from front to rear. I haven’t seen the floor in years.
So when the husband retired a few months ago and had lots of spare time on his hands, I did what any thoughtful wife would do and subtly suggested now would be a good time to go through his mess, useless junk, rubble treasure once and for all.
But as my title says, I should have been careful what I wished for. Because as I suggested, my husband started sifting though his massive piles of detritus below ground.
The problem is…. it all began to float upstairs.
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Now? There’s a World War II poster/map on my den reading chair.
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There are railroad cars on my kitchen counter.
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There are boxes, bags and assorted dreck on my office floor.
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As well as stamps and a broken clock on my auxiliary desk. So basically, it’s everywhere… and I fear for the future of our living space.
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Because if all that makes it’s way upstairs? I may end up sleeping on that newly cleared cellar floor.
During a recent shopping trip with a friend, we ducked into Macaroni Grill for lunch. It wasn’t our first choice, but after trying four other restaurants and being told it would be an hour wait due to short staffing…. we figured any port in the storm would do.
After a mediocre lukewarm meal that arrived late and with the wrong vegetables, the bill was presented. Now I don’t know about your part of the world, but here in Maine restaurants are having a hard time staying afloat since no one wants to work. There are no waitresses, no hostesses, no busboys, no cooks. Every where you go has the same issues. They apologize for it when you enter and we’ve come to expect the worst. What I didn’t expect was this:
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A little inflation surcharge they sneak in without telling you.
And hey, don’t get me wrong…. I understand prices are up everywhere, and naturally the increase in the cost of food has to be passed along to the consumer. But this sure seems like a strange way to do it.
This is an easy one for me….. it’s Hellmann’s mayonnaise hands down.
And while I never buy generic brands if I can help it, the occasional Covid shortages have forced me to embrace no name ketchup and the grocery store’s line of honey mustard when there’s no other choice. But mayonnaise? Nope. Never. Not happening. If I can’t have Hellmann’s I’ll do without. Truly, no other brand will do. And if you mention that ghastly creation from Kraft that purports to be miraculous? I will seriously have to contemplate unfriending you.
As you know, it was me who named the current descendant of an Egyptian God in residence at Casa River.
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I chose ‘Lord Dudley Mountcatten’ as he seemed quite regal, even from day one. But I’ve taken nothing but flak from my husband who thinks it’s a ridiculous moniker and refuses to use it. Every time I introduce his Lordship to a friend? The husband snorts, informs our friend he had nothing to do with the weird name and says ,”I call him Buddy”.
And while my other half has given me a lot of grief for my name choice in the last year, today I was vindicated.
Today I read an article about a national contest for the weirdest pet name, and though a cat from Maine won….
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It was not Lord Dudley Mountcatten.
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So take that spouse of 38 years! And consider yourself lucky the name Pickles McButterpants the Muffin Slayer was already being used.
Since reaching the advanced age of 58, there are times I find myself woefully out of touch.
I don’t know many of the new artists on the charts and I’m sure I don’t have any of the hip new trends in my closet.
So it shouldn’t come as any surprise that I was also blissfully unaware which emojis are being used in the drug trade these days.
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The red maple leaf is the universal symbol for drugs. Has anyone told Canada?
While the money bags make sense for a dealer, and the 🍪 for large batch is cute in a disturbing kind of way…
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Someone needs to explain to me why Percocet and oxycodone rate a banana. Because at my advanced age bananas mean fiber and extra potassium… and I can’t see anyone getting high on that.
Though the evil empire managed to beat my beloved Sox two out of three at Yankee Stadium in the opening series. I fear for our bull pen this year, but we have good bats, so my fingers are crossed for a good year.
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I continue to be astounded by the cheap prices at the meat counter at the military commissary in Bangor.
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We’re making a once a month pilgrimage and if I buy nothing but beef, chicken and pork it’s well worth the drive.
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But finding the laundry detergent that costs me $17 at the grocery store for $9? That makes me one extremely happy shopper.
As if the cat bathing kit I posted about the other day wasn’t bad enough, some moron has come up with a muzzle.
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Grooming restraint? Anti meow? I don’t know about that, but I can guarantee there’s going to be some biting in your future if you attempt to put this on our cat.
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How often do you walk your cat around the neighborhood?
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Oh look, it works in the shower as well. Not. The photos can’t be real. Those cats are either heavily sedated or long dead and stuffed.
River's world..... 