Polly Does Dopey : A Chronological List of the Dopey Things I’ve Done that Amuse Me

1. When I was 16, my youth group held a wet n’ wild event where I proceeded to get wildly wet. At the close of the evening, I climbed into the back seat of my friend’s car, my shorts drenched, and I was immediately sitting in a puddle. I did have a semi-dry towel which I used as a screen to remove my Sham Wows. I wrapped the towel around my waist covering my near nakedness. We stopped at a light and my most supportive friend yelled, “Chinese Fire Drill”. Do I have to continue?
2. A friend and I used to swing on the swings at the elementary school behind my house. We were having a jumping off contest scored on height and distance. My last jump, my flimsy shorts remained on the swing. Are you getting the impression that I like to run around publically in my underpants?
3. I had a friend who worked at a Second Cup Kiosk. I stopped for a visit and she gave me a bag of chocolate covered coffee beans. I don’t drink coffee, but a chocolate covered gift is a gift. I proceeded to eat most of the bag. I went for a bike ride at 3:00 the next morning.
4. I was working at Sears during my college days. I was folding some towels a ways away from the check-out desk (they were paying me) and the phone rang. I dashed to retrieve the call and wiped out like I was sliding into home base, skirt flyin’ high, in front of a lady and her son. I pray for that boy.
5. I can hold down a job. Again, I was working at Sears. A lovely, older lady and co-worker of mine approached me with concern in her eyes at the beginning of my shift. In a most compassionate tone, she asked why my forehead was covered with miniscule X indentations. She nudged my bangs aside like a kindly nurse wanting a closer look. I had no idea what she was talking about and scurried off to the restroom to investigate. When I looked in the mirror, I laughed myself silly. I’m a compulsive zit picker.
6. On my wedding day, I wanted to make sure my pretties were lifted and supported so I cinched up my harness to perfectly perky. In the receiving line, all the hugging caused a wardrobe malfunction. My brassiere became a necklace. I was forced to flee to the bushes.
7. When I was still a newly-wed, we invited a family over for dinner. I didn’t know the rule that one should only use tried and true recipes when having company in. (I still don’t have any of those.) The party was fun. The dinner was disgusting.
8. We were invited to a potluck where I was asked to bring steamed green beans with lemon wedges. I boiled the beanies out of those things while squirting them with my trusty, plastic lemon. When people came through the line and stood before my dish, they could hardly hide their distaste.
9. Shortly after I had my first child, a friend called to ask if I wanted to go for a walk in the river valley. My stomach had been a little queasy, but I was eager to get out and talk to an adult while breathing in the fresh air. Am I the only one who doesn’t listen to her body? Halfway through our stroll, I feared I may explode. I dithered around in my mind, no longer able to even concentrate on what my friend was saying. I could not banish the image of me, legs parted, schlepping home like a slug leaving a trail of smelly, melted, chunky peanut butter behind me. When we arrived back at my place, I ran downstairs to shoot the moon, but sadly, didn’t even get the gun out of the holster. While my friend waited upstairs, I tried as best I could to swipe up the splats. I had no towel and no extra clothes for such an emergency. Pulling my maternity top down, I marched upstairs and, peering around the door, explained my malady to my guest. She graciously averted her eyes.
10. I’d worked as a Dental Receptionist for a number of years and most of my days were spent with a telephone in my ear. At the end of one particularly strenuous call session where I’m sure I talked to upwards of 50 answering machines, I lost it. “Hello, this is Polly calling from Really Expensive Dental Centre. This call is for Polly. Oh…Wait…(audible confusion)…that would be me.

 

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂

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To Clean or not to Clean

A messy person spends countless hours swearing, searching for her keys, glasses, important papers, etc.
A clean person puts things in the same place every time. Therefore, she always knows where things are and has more free time to color code her sock drawer.
A messy person wears whatever crawls up to her bed in the morning.
A clean person’s clothes are always freshly laundered, pressed, and laid out neatly the night before. A wrinkle or stain can cause psychosis.
A messy person eats fruit over the sink, cold pizza straight from the fridge, and TV dinners in front of the tube.
A clean person will only eat at the table with a full place setting, decorative table linens, and music to aid digestion.
A messy person lounges in the living room eating and drinking. Her couch has the equivalent of a bag of chips and three day’s bus fare under the cushions.
A clean person covers her couch with a tasteful throw and no one, and I mean NO ONE, is allowed to sit on it.
A messy person hacks and coughs, as she writes love notes and funny sayings in the dust on her furniture.
A clean person polishes her furniture until it shines and she can stare at her perfectly coiffed reflection from across the room.
A messy person’s bed looks exactly the way it did when she rolled out of it.
A clean person’s bed looks like a catalogue advertisement
A messy person moves her piles around to accommodate guests.
A clean person has a guestroom complete with scented candles, designer bedding, and travel-sized toiletries, all the comforts of Martha Stewart’s home.
A messy person looks out the window and notices the sunshine, the blue sky, and the birds flitting from tree to tree. She winds up wondering why everything looks so blurry.
A clean person never gets past the smudges and streaks on the window. After conducting a thorough cleaning, she steps back to survey her handiwork and notices the drapes need to be vacuumed.
A messy person’s pad smells like Parmesan cheese, dirty socks, and flatulence.
A clean person’s living quarter’s smells like fresh lemons, ocean breezes, or country meadows, depending on her mood and chemical preference that day.
A messy person is spontaneous, carefree, and relaxed. She makes the world more fun.
A clean person is organized, careful, and accomplished. She makes the world more beautiful.
Which one are you?
The world needs us both. 🙂

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂

Here’s to the Great Sorter in the Sky

Take control of me, Jesus. The current management is woefully incompetent.

 

My son, like many other boys his age, loved to play with Lego. His imagination soared as he created all manner of scenes, structures, and creatures. One Mother’s Day, I even received a clever, Lego cake!

At one point, he began the daunting task of sorting his Lego. He made this decision, because it took too long to locate the particular piece he needed. Having obtained a load of it at a garage sale, I watched him patiently sorting through it for days.

One afternoon, I was helping him, while his younger sister looked on.

“Why are you helping him sort his Lego, Mummy?” she asked.

Without hesitation, I replied, “Because I love him”.

In the silence that followed, I had a moment of gratitude for the love of God
and His willingness to help me sort out so much more than just my Lego.

 

Complete the experience. Listen to Audrey Assad’s “Good to Me”. 

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂

A Guilty Daydream

Jesus said to Martha, and I paraphrase, “Mary has chosen the better way, hanging out with me while you cook and clean and fuss.” Do I ever like that guy!

 

There are crumbs on my floor to make a meal

Dust obscures the TV screen

My windows have been licked and gobbed on

My walls are glazed with grubby fingerprints

Little strings and bits of lint languish on the rug

The floor is spattered, scuffed and split

My bathtub proudly displays its ring

I am the only lonely one in the cycle of chores

I bow down to the pail god

I slop with water

I scrub and scour and wipe away

I bend and contort and labor

I say this sucks as I push the stick that sucks up the dust

I get tired and everything gleams

And then I have to do it all again

I think gleaming is over-rated

And in my case, it’s just a guilty daydream

Nothing gleams

I sit in the naturalness, the mess

And smile and read a book

 

 

Author’s note: I wrote this poem while running a day home when my children were small. My dislike of cleaning has only grown. I’ve tossed the guilt. I get a lot of reading done. 🙂

Posts come out every Monday morning, a poem every third Monday. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram username: pollyeloquent. Thanks for reading. 🙂

Substance Abuse

We were house hunting a couple of years ago and there was one house in particular that stood out and not because I liked it. On every wall available, there were two to three pictures. There was no blank space to rest your eyes, only intense stimulation. In another home, every room was littered with piles of knicknacks. I don’t like knickknacks. I know some of you are coo-coo for Cocoa-puffs, I mean, nutty for knickknacks. I challenge you to think about whether or not you even look at them, or if their visual cacophony is something you now ignore. For me, something on every surface is just so much clutter. Your house might as well be messy. Besides, how much of your life do you want to spend moving, dusting, and resetting stuff?

In Praise of all Things Unusual

I’d rather be weird than boring.

When I was first married, living in Edmonton, I used to ride my bike to work from the spring to the fall. Every day, I would pedal by a house where the occupants decorated their garage in a unique way. From the eaves to the floor on the one side, they had nailed garish flea market finds; brightly colored bric-a-brac, things with moving parts, bells, and chimes. My friend said it was ugly, but I was drawn to it. It was so odd and chaotic, it blared like a trumpet in a sleepy, tree-lined neighborhood. What possessed these people to start such a collection and then display it in such a public way?

My Mother’s Dog

One of my pet peeves is people who don’t pick up after their pets. A walk in the spring is like tiptoeing through the pooch shit.

I had a dog once. The only reason we had a dog was because one of my mother’s clients offered it to us. It was a toy poodle. It was cute, especially when the groomers didn’t turn it into a topiary tree.

Gag Me with a Dessert Spoon

I touched an open bag of celery the other day, but quickly withdrew my hand. Yikes, that was close.

When I was child, I was a picky eater. I had an over-developed gag reflex which I honed to perfection. No green thing could touch my lips and my food was not allowed to congregate. I pretty much subsisted on dry cereal, cheese, corn, and buns. Many a night, I sat at the table vacantly staring at the cold, bacteria-laden dinner I refused to eat. My parents had to warn me before going to someone’s house that I was to sit by my mother and she would give me what I liked. Under no circumstances was I to utter the “Y” word (yucky). My parents were never in the habit of cursing anyone, but Oscar the Grouch was an exception.

Confessions of a Frequent Farter

They’ve come up with an automobile that can run on flatulence. I can commence my plan to rule the world.

Fart is a dirty word that most people don’t want to hear much less say. Some people try to dress it up by calling it a toot or a fluff, one family I knew called it a spunk, but that doesn’t change what it is. I like talking about things other people don’t like to talk about.

I’m a Mother

I’m a lover and a life-giver

I’m a womb without a view

I open, I throw up, I blow up, I push out

My middle has tread marks

I ripple, I roll

I have a mole in my belly button, who knew?