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.
Continue reading “Gag Me with a Dessert Spoon”
Can fat people go skinny dipping?
What is flab? According to the Websters Dictionary, flab is defined as, excessive, loose, or flaccid body tissue. How boring. I can do better than that. What is flab according to Polly? How about jiggly jelly rolls, great gelatinous mounds of flesh, or excessive excess?
Continue reading “A Reflection on Flab”
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.
Continue reading “Confessions of a Frequent Farter”
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?
Continue reading “I’m a Mother”
I’m so tired of worrying about what I look like. I’ve developed a new strategy and so far, it’s working well. I’ve stopped looking.
I’m not very good at hygiene or any kind of self-care, for that matter. When bedtime shows up, I have the dexterity of a drunk ready to pass out and lose the ability to use my arms. The urge to go to sleep comes on me so suddenly, so swiftly, I can barely drop my clothes to the floor, much less operate a tooth brush. In the morning, my breath smells like a fart on amphetamines and the stink wafts out of my mouth as I do the clean up. Mint toothpaste is my friend.
Continue reading “Mirror, Mirror”
My husband was encouraging my teenage daughter to take home economics this year.
“That’s so I don’t end up like mom, right?”
It’s true. I don’t like cooking. Okay, I’ll be more specific. I loathe cooking. I would camp out in frigid weather in front of the first store to make a Star Trek food replicator available. I find the whole process as distasteful as, well, my cooking.
Continue reading “Beam Me Up, Scottie!”
I’m a plant killer. It’s not intentional. I do enjoy plants. My sister-in-law has a corner full of plants and I could sit in front of them like a kid sits in front of cartoons. Their beauty and rich green life have a soothing effect on me. However, I still kill plants.
Continue reading “To Kill a Plant”
I want some more paper, please
I haven’t reached my quota yet
Please don’t forget to send some by
Continue reading “More Paper, Please”
Never underestimate the importance of a good hat.
I don’t enjoy getting my hair cut. It’s always a risk and I’ve had five too many bad experiences. When I was younger, I was very shy and found it hard to ask for anything. I used to get my extroverted brother to ask for me. Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in sitting in on my hair appointments, selfish, selfish boy, and I wasn’t capable of expressing what I wanted. I still have nightmares about one cut, the queen of all bad hairdos.
I was in junior high and had a boyfriend. I didn’t after leaving that salon. His parting words were, “You should’ve left it the way it was.” Continue reading “I’m at a Loss for Hairs”
I love chocolate. I eat it every day and often at every meal. It’s a staple in my diet. It makes me happy.
I’m an addict, I know. When I was a teenager, I ate seven chocolate bars in one sitting. In the middle of the night, I hurled chocolate chunks over the side of the top bunk. My sister, the unfortunate occupant of the bottom bunk, vacated the room after being hit by the splatter. When my children and I go out for ice cream sundaes and they leave blobs of hot fudge at the bottom of their bowls, I wonder if they’re mine, while I clean up after them.
Continue reading “Chocoholics Unanimous”