O is for Ordinary – The Alphabet Series

Aging & Attitude

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New Thoughts on Words

“Honey, I’m home,” yells Mr. Wonderful* as he parades himself through the front door carrying a boxed Hamilton Beach toaster oven I requested he buy. I meet him in the kitchen as he continues saying, “You’re gonna love it,” his chest buffed out, ready to strut his feathers like he is a peacock.

“Great,” I respond as excited as he is, “Was it still on sale?”

“Yes, $37.99.” He answers and reaches for a sharp knife to cut through the cellophane tape.

“Wait!” I demand. “Don’t open it! You didn’t get the red one. It says black, see.”

I point to the bold lettering on the box.

Hamilton Beach Toaster Oven

Black

He says, “What’s the difference? They didn’t have a red one. Black, red, it makes toast, heats rolls, melts cheese.”

She says, “Black is ordinary, dull, predictable. Black lacks distinction. Red adds, pizzazz, makes a statement.”

He says, “Who needs a statement? I want toast in the morning, ordinary, plain toast. I add cherry jelly if I need pizzazz. Dull and ordinary is just fine by me.”

She says, “Fine? As in average, common and mundane. I want better than fine. Red adds color, interest against the black granite. I’ll take it back, where’s the receipt?”

He says, “What difference does it make, nobody sees it. It’s a toaster.”

She says, “I see it. Now I’m a nobody?”

He says, “Claudia, that’s not what I meant, you’re being ridiculous, why can’t you ever be happy?”

She says, “So I’m a ridiculous unhappy nobody.”

He says, “I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

She says, “It doesn’t matter what you said, what you meant was, STOP being a pain in MY butt and settle for ordinary.”

He says, “Geezzzzzzzzzz, What if it only came in black, you’d have to be happy with black.”

She says, “Now I should fake it, pretend I like humdrum black. Did you look for chrome? Chrome, at least chrome would be different.

He says, “You’re right. I’ll take it back. Why be ordinary? God forbid we’re ordinary. Whatever you want. If a red toaster oven makes you happy, I’m happy too. Yada, yada, yada”

….just saying

*Mr. Wonderful is my husband of 42 years.

P.S. You can read the history of the toaster at The Toaster Page.

J is for Junk Drawer – The Alphabet Series

New Thoughts on Words

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Aging & Attitude

Mr. Wonderful, my husband of 41 years, walks into the kitchen and asks, “Have you seen that what-ch-ma- thing?”

I know exactly what he is asking about because he has on glasses and is holding a plastic tube of wood glue.

“You know that who-GA-ma-call-it you wanted put back.” He says stammering and shaking his head; eyes focused on a ceiling corner in an attempt to retrieve the information.

I enjoy his sputtering, because early he yelled at me, “You’re always right, you’re right, you’re right, but you can’t make me do it.” After a discussion on health became a fist fight about right or wrong.

Now, his stretched out slippers let his toes hang over the sole, so they smash into the floor molding. He hip hops about, flamingo style, scrunching his face like a shriveled prune and swearing, shit, shit, shit, but gets no sympathy.

Then he blurts out the real issue, “Why can’t we have a junk drawer?”

Yes, you heard right, we do not have a junk drawer. I am philosophically opposed to the concept and wonder why people accumulate items, they do not want and have no need for, useless items, in a kitchen drawer.

“Why would we need a junk drawer, we have somehow managed for forty years without a drawer of unwanted rubbish.”

“Marshal says every man needs a junk drawer, all the guys have one, I’m the only one who doesn’t.”

I get it, that the junk has possibility. It’s too good for the garbage and might some day have a use, or kept just in case.

“So Mr. Wonderful, if you had a junk drawer, what would you put in it?” I ask.

“The who-Ga-ma-call-it I’m looking for, golf balls and golf tees, I don’t know, STUFF!” He answers.

“Don’t you keep golf balls and tees in your golf bag? And the what-ch-ma-thing is in your tool box.” I reply.

“You’re right, you’re right, I hate it when you’re right!”

…just saying

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High Definition

Aging & Attitude

My husband can never die. One of the many, many reasons is his ability to surf the TV channel guide. My television viewing is dependent on him. Just when I’ve remembered that Lifetime HD is 1137, it’s not. The local newspaper does not list High Definition channels but I have a dated program locator (aka guide), with several notations about changes, although not enough to entice me off the couch, into the study, and rifling through a file cabinet.

He’s still alive, sitting in his chair so I double-check, “Lifetime is 1124, right?”

“No, it’s number 1237. All HD channels have been regrouped in the 1200 range.”

“How would I know that?”

“It was in the newspaper, remember I told you.”

“I….Forgot.”

Bright House also mailed a flyer about Channel Lineup.”

“That was a TV Guide?”

He is a sweet man. Surely, I can figure Television viewing for myself.

Sunday I study the News Journal television guide, and with a highlighter make note of the day and time of my favorite programs and copy the information in a daily calendar. It does not work.

The shows I like are on at 9PM and later, The Closer, Mad Men, Men of a Certain Age, that lawyer show with Cathy Bates, not Andy or Jackie, you know, Harry’s Law. Typically that’s about the time we switch. I swap whatever I am doing for TV and he retires to the bedroom, saying, “Don’t you want to see such and such?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me, Mr. Wonderful.”

In the morning I phone Bright House and after pushing several prompts hear a voice say, “I’m Murray your customer service representative, how can I exceed your expectations?”

Now we are talking.

                                                              ….just saying