George and Gladys go the Rounds

    For as long as George and Gladys have been married, Gladys has taken her shoes off and tucked them into a corner somewhere in the house. George has complained about it repeatedly, but it hasn’t changed her habit. There are often two or three pairs of shoes in the kitchen corners, and some in the living room tucked under the edge of the sofa.

    After opening his top dresser drawer the third day in a row to find a myriad of trinkets and change on top of his underwear, George has a meltdown. “Why is all this junk in my top drawer of the dresser every time I open it?”

    Gladys answers, “It’s all the junk you leave on the dresser. Each morning when I dust the dresser, I don’t know where you want all that stuff put, so I sweep it off into your top drawer.”

    George huffs out of the bedroom after pulling everything off his clean underwear and throwing most of it in the trash.

    George and Gladys say very little to each other all day.  That night when Gladys prepares to get ready for bed, she opens her drawer to get her pajamas and finds three pairs of her shoes on top of her PJs. Touché!

Gladys Doesn’t Understand.

While attending a conference, we heard Zig Ziggler talk about a man who got up one night to go to the bathroom and when he came back, his wife had the bed made. George and the children all looked in my direction and pointed a finger at me. My face turned red and I knew Zig was talking about me! I’ve always been very fastidious about keeping my house immaculate, and at times have accomplished some rather incredible feats to stay ahead of the numerous people creating messes in the house. I have taken great pride in the fact that if I was given ten minutes notice, I could have a large meal on the table and a presentable house for overnight guests.

My son-in-law dropped in the other day. He was talking to Ann on the phone. “Where did you put the registration to the car?” he asked her. He hung up in relief after she told him it was on the sun visor. “I was afraid she’d thrown it away again,” he said.

“Again?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Last time she got handy and cleaned out a bunch of things, she threw away our income tax papers, and I had to pay to get them done over again!”

“Oh,” I moaned. “She got that from me. When the mess is too big to sort out, or it’s a bunch of things I don’t know what to do with, I throw them out. I learned a long time ago that very few things are that important and generally, most of the things I throw away are never even noticed or missed.” He looked at me and shook his head. I could see he just didn’t understand me.

I remember one Thanksgiving when my Mother watched me as I prepared Turkey dinner for fifteen people and never left a trace of evidence on the stove or counter tops. “If you never make a mess, you never have to clean it up,” I explained.

Mother’s was the world’s greatest cook, but she used every pot and pan in the kitchen to prepare the meal—sometimes using two small pots for the potatoes (heaven forbid she could use one large pot to do the job when two smaller pots could boil over and leave a foaming mess on the stove.) A friend who had helped me wash dishes once,  marveled that my Mother had six rubber spatulas. It was true—we had just washed them all. Mother didn’t believe in rinsing and reusing just one.

When my Thanksgiving dinner went on the table, I hurriedly washed the potato pot and the other pans I had cooked vegetables and gravy in. Mother grew impatient with me because her diner was getting cold, but I couldn’t sit down and enjoy myself if there was a mess of dirty pots and pans all over the counter. Mother, on the other hand, couldn’t enjoy her meal if everything wasn’t piping hot when she sat down. I loved my mother, she just didn’t understand me.

One evening I started to clear the dinner table while everyone dashed about the house doing their own thing. George walked back into the dining room and sat down at the table. “Where’s my plate? I left it right here!”

“Oh, Honey! I’m sorry. I thought you were through eating and I threw it down the disposal.”

“No! I just went to the bathroom and I planned to come back and finish eating. George shook his head and left the dining room still hungry. I could see he just didn’t understand me.

I remember watching Ann do simple things like making orange juice from frozen concentrate. First, she’d pull the plastic strip from the top of the frozen juice can and set it down on the counter. Then she pulled the lid off and set it down (juice-side down, of course.) When she finished digging the juice out of the can with a spoon, knife, and fork, she walked away leaving the whole mess of utensils, can, lid, and strip all over the counter with sticky orange juice oozing from each. I couldn’t handle it. “If you never make a mess, you’ll never have to clean it up,” I repeated my mantra. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. I knew she didn’t understand me.

One day Junior was making pizzas and he complained, “Hey! Where did my knife go that I had right here?” he asked pointing to a spot on the counter. “Oh,” I said. “I just put it in the dishwasher.” “Mom, I’m not through with it yet, and where’s the cheese I put on the counter?” he bellowed. “I put it in the refrigerator.” He sent me to my room. I could see he just didn’t understand me.

Mornings around here are worse than the airport at hub-time. Bill leaves for school at 7:00 am, Jim leaves at 7:45, and George catches the bus to work at 7:50. Junior leaves on the preschool bus at 8:15, and Henry and Ron catch their bus at 9:05. When they’re all out the door, the kitchen looks like a tornado hit. It’s usually about this time I fix breakfast for Ann and myself.

One morning in particular, I put Ann’s breakfast on her highchair tray. She’s really too old for the highchair, but it’s easier to control the mess so I keep her there for my convenience. I set my bowl of oatmeal off to the side on the counter and rushed about the kitchen emptying the dishwasher and putting the clean dishes away, rinsing the breakfast dishes, washing the oatmeal pot, and reloading the dishwasher.

When Ann was through with her breakfast, she handed me her bowl. I washed her off, washed her high chair tray and her plastic bib, put them back in their places, and put her bowl in the dishwasher.

When everyone was taken care of and the dishes were all loaded in the dishwasher, I sighed with relief and sat down at the table to eat my own breakfast in peace. When my bowl wasn’t on the table, I remembered I had set it aside on the kitchen counter. I walked to the kitchen only to find I had scraped my bowl down the disposal with the others and put it in the dishwasher. I walked out of the kitchen bewildered. I just don’t understand me.

Men's Room.

George visits the men’s room at Walmart. He has George Junior in tow and this is Junior’s first exposure to a public men’s room. As he watches George with fascination, he says, “WOW, Dad. You have a BIG pee-pee!”

George explains to Junior that he shouldn’t say such things when not at home. A voice comes from inside one of the stalls, “Well, it could have been worse—he could have said you’ve got a little one.”

The Ladies Room.

Gladys visits the ladies room in the local Walmart. As she enters the restroom, she notices the handicap stall on the end is occupied by someone who appears to be standing facing the commode. Leary of the situation, she quietly enters the empty stall trying not to draw attention to her presence when she hears a small child chanting, “Push ‘em out, shove ‘em out, waaaay out!”

George is a couch potato.

George is a couch potato. Unfortunately, the latest fashion in men’s tight jeans is not conducive to relaxation while watching TV. Accordingly, George unbuttons and unzips his pants to relax while watching television in his man-cave.

Gladys joins him to watch the late evening news and fold clothes after the children are settled in bed. She fills two large baskets with the week’s clean laundry. When they finally decide to go upstairs to bed, George carries one basket of clean folded laundry and Gladys will follow with the other after she straightens the room.

George yells from the stairs for help. Gladys quickly runs to see what the commotion is all about. George is standing on the second stair, his pants have fallen to his ankles where they have ankle-cuffed him. He cannot go up or back down the stairs. He can’t turn around because the basket he is carrying is almost the same width as the stairwell, nor can he bend over the basket to pull his drawers up.

“Well, George, it looks like you got caught with your pants down.”

George originates a new rodeo event.

One might wonder how a cow had such a name as “Skid” bestowed upon it, but truth be told, it all began on the evening George went out to milk the cow. Every time George attempted to pull her into the milking stall, she held all one-thousand-plus pounds firm and would not move into the stall. After repeated attempts, the cow got tired of the fight and backed out of the barn. George wasn’t about to lose this battle and he grabbed a tight hold on her tail, twisted it around his wrist, and pulled as hard as he could. The cow, not liking the discomfort, took off on a run through the corral. George hung tight with his boot heels pressing into the wet muck. The boys gathered on the fence rails, laughing, heckling, and cheering, as George skidded—exhibiting perfect water-skiing form with manure flying out behind him. After circling the corral several times, the cow finally stopped running. More of a taunt to George than anything, the boys christened the cow “Skid” and her legacy still stands.

Junior is infamous

Gladys attended the funeral of a friend she had known for thirty-five years. Everyone had moved away from the old neighborhood and gone in different directions, but the friendships forged in that era never died. It seemed like a family reunion to see old friends that had come to the funeral. She was visiting with one of her particularly close friends who now lived at the opposite end of the state. They were asking each other about their children who were now adults. Gladys explained where Bill, Jim, Henry and Ron were living.

“Now didn’t you have another child after Ron?” she asked.

“Yes, I had Junior …you remember—he’s the one who burned our house down and broke the window out of your storm door.”

Her friend thought for a moment and then said, “Now, wasn’t he the one who sucked up the baby chicks with the vacuum hose?”

Honestly! The things people remember!

The Original Sin

Gladys 

I am a God-fearing Christian. I have always known that God knew me, loved me, and watched over me 24-7. I often wondered about Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. How long did they live before they were exiled, and why did God curse them with weeds, mosquitoes, and gnats? Couldn’t He have settled for a world without fruit, for example? It seems to me that denying Adam and Eve fruit, would have been the natural consequence they deserved for eating that which was forbidden. Or was it that He knew the insects would decay the fruit and thus punish them repeatedly each time they tried to eat it? And another thing I don’t get …how on earth did a snake talk to Eve? Did they speak parseltongue? How did J.K. Rowling know? Could I, like Adam and Eve be naked and not notice? I doubt it.  I lock George out of the bathroom to change my shoes. And I guarantee you, I could never have endured a wardrobe of fig leaves—green is not my color …to say nothing of the half of me that would still have been exposed wearing only an apron!

          One night after making love, George and I were spooned next to each other in the buff, and George began to pray. In my mind, I screamed, “Stop! You can’t talk to God! I’m naked!” Where’s a fig leaf when you need one?

Toupee Touché

George  

George, being very sensitive about his baldness, wears a very expensive toupee. Gladys has always been the resourceful wife and cuts George’s remaining hair—after removing the pricey rug from his head, of course.  

They live in a split entry house, and Gladys rarely answers the front door—she just yells, “Come in!” Otherwise, she would spend half her life running up and down the stairs.

She is cutting George’s hair in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. Without thinking, she yells, “Come in!” George jumps in his seat as if he’s ready to run and hide, “What are you doing?” he screams.

George’s brother and wife run up the stairs in a panic. They have just purchased a battery for their motorcycle and the acid has leaked onto his truck seat and her slacks. “Don’t worry,” Gladys assures George. “It’s just your brother. He’s seen you many times without your hair.”

Gladys immediately tends to her brother-in-law and his wife by giving them baking soda and rags and they run off in a hurry to neutralize the acid. As soon as they are out of earshot, George, whose blood pressure must be near cardiac arrest judging from the color of his face, yells, “For hell sakes! Will you get me some clothes?”

VIC is for Victory

Gladys

If necessity is the mother of invention, then I should have invented the solution to the family toothbrush problem years ago when our family increased to one more person than there were colors of toothbrushes. I have often marveled that manufacturers of such necessities as the toothbrush have never been aware that some families exceed the number of four! We are now eight to be exact, and unless we had two people use the same color of toothbrush, one half of the family was left out. The thing that perturbed me the most was the fact that half of my family wouldn’t have noticed even if they had had no toothbrush!

It took a little while for this knowledge to sink into my brain, but I was well on my way to comprehension the night we played the newlywed game at a dinner party. One of the questions asked of the husbands was: “What color is your toothbrush?” Mine answered, “Gee, I don’t know. I just open the drawer and grab one. The first one I grab is the one I use.”

When I recovered from the embarrassment, I vowed I’d make some changes at home. Upon inspection, I discovered that three of our six toothbrushes (two children shy of where we are now) were the same color and brand, all of them equally worn out. I purchased six new toothbrushes, but the task was not as simple as I had anticipated. There were exactly four colors to choose from. I opted for four colors in one style, and then two small children’s brushes with faces on the handles in two of the four colors. I only cost me $19.37. Sculptured toothbrushes are very costly!

Any parent with more than one child knows exactly what happened when I got home. All four children wanted the red clown toothbrush. Try as I would, nobody wanted to make life easier for me, so to prevent choosing favorites, I took the red clown toothbrush for myself, gave my husband the blue clown toothbrush and gave all the kids the plain toothbrushes. Now I could be sure of two things: first, my husband would never forget which toothbrush was his, and second, he’d never use it.

The plot thickened shortly after that, when I had spent a rather busy morning and was running a little late. I rushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth only to find the drawer completely void of all toothbrushes, so I checked all the other drawers and the cupboard. Still, there were no toothbrushes. I angrily slammed the drawers shut and smashed my finger. I swished some water around in my mouth and rushed out of the bathroom, trying to forget the whole ordeal. A couple of hours passed before I thought about the missing toothbrushes, but when the toilet flooded later that morning, I became reasonably suspicious. Sure enough! With each push-pull motion of the plunger, up came another toothbrush!

Toothbrushes were on sale for a dollar each, but we had increased one more in number by then. I searched forty-five minutes through a bin of toothbrushes for seven brushes of any color that had soft bristles. I managed to find four with soft bristles and had to buy three that weren’t on sale to get all seven toothbrushes with soft bristles in a variety of three different colors, and spent $1.98 on a permanent magic marker to write names on the toothbrushes. The names wore off in a week and the dilemma was back again. When our sixth child was born, I hated myself for having another baby, making the mission even more impossible.

One day I was shopping in a small variety store when I almost tripped over a shopping cart full of monogrammed combs and toothbrushes! Praise the Lord! My prayers had been answered. Now, in our family it’s easy to find monogrammed items because we all have common names. I spent two hours inspecting every single toothbrush in that bin, only to find that they were all sold out of GLADYS’, JAMES’, WILLIAM’s, and JUNIOR’s. They didn’t even have the alternates of MOM, JIM, BILL, or JR. I did, however, have in my possession a GEORGE, HENRY, ANN, and a RON. I settled for CAROL, VIC, FRANK, and ROY to take the places of the missing names. I figured at least we’d all have a toothbrush with a different name permanently engraved on it—even if it wasn’t our own name.

Upon arrival home and an introduction to the new toothbrushes, James immediately spoke up, “I’ll take VIC for victory! (If I had known VIC stood for victory, I’d have taken that one for myself and let him have CAROL!) ROY was green and that had been the same color as Junior’s old toothbrush, so I thought it might be easier for him to remember that one. William seemed satisfied with FRANK and I knew I’d end up with CAROL. I even hammered some nails up on the inside of the cupboard door so all the toothbrushes would hang without getting hair in them from the combs and brushes in the drawer.

There hasn’t been a great deal of evolution in the family’s brushing habits in spite of all my labors. I finally retired from my attempt to improve the situation. James was complaining that his toothbrush was worn out. I simply said, “Use ROY, he never brushes his teeth anyway.”

George, overhearing our conversation, gave me a blank look and said, “Who the hell is Roy?”

April Fools

Playing a prank on Gladys for April Fool’s day, especially when it’s fresh on his mind after she filled the sugar bowl with salt, seems like such great revenge. How is it that she can do this to him every year and he still hasn’t caught on until his cereal is ruined. He vows he’ll be smarter next year, but of course, he will have forgotten once again.

Thinking like a male, he decides to retaliate and gross her out by putting a raisin in his nose and then kiss Gladys with the brown morsel hanging out of his nose. For effect, he stretches the raisin to make it hang longer.

George, serious by nature, is so out of his element that he can’t stand the anticipation of seeing Gladys’ reaction. As he approaches her, he tries to stifle a laugh and it comes out as a snort …sucking the raisin high up into his nostril.

When they return home from the emergency room, where the doctor had removed the raisin from his sinus, George attempts to assuage his bruised ego by snitching one of Gladys’ homemade caramel apples from the kitchen counter. Certain she didn’t notice him taking it, he quietly tip-toes to his man-cave to hide. Now feeling smug about his contraband, he sits back in his favorite recliner and takes a huge bite out of a caramel covered onion.

Sunday Dinner

Gladys made sure Sunday dinner after church was a big event. She set the table with China, sterling, goblets, cloth napkins, and prepared a big pot roast with all the trimmings. It was the only time during the week that the whole family was present and had a chance to visit and catch up on each other’s lives.

This Sunday was no different. Dinner was served, the conversation was engaging, and everyone seemed happy when the doorbell rang. Gladys was not pleased with the interruption, nevertheless, she proceeded to the door.

When she opened the door, before her stood Mr. Guy from church holding the hand of none other than George Junior. “Did you forget something?” he asked. Gladys hadn’t even noticed Junior was missing.

One week later: Gladys was making sure everyone was ready for church and Junior announced, “I’m not going to church with you guys--you’ll just leave me there!”

One month later: The Sunday school teacher gave a lesson about Jesus teaching in the temple at the age of twelve. Someone in the class said, “I can’t imagine how Joseph and Mary could go for two whole days in the caravan without noticing their son was missing.”

Mr. Guy spoke up from the back of the room, “Ask Gladys.”

Nose hairs and other Nonsense

The bad thing about aging is that the hair on your head takes a vacation and never returns ...or maybe it does in a different form. It grows on and out of your ears and out your nose.

Gladys has tweezed the hair between her eyebrows for years. Now it’s the only eyebrow hair that continues to grow. The remainder of her eyebrows have fled to the Promised Land. The hair on her legs continues to be a problem, but they, like her personality, are softening with age. She looks forward to the promised future when they will join the hair on her head and her eyebrows in that great beyond.

George, now bald on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered by the forest appearing on his ears or the bushes growing out of his nostrils. It drives Gladys crazy. Each time she sits next to him, she grabs a pair of tweezers and begins to pluck away. This, of course, drives George out of his mind and brings tears to his eyes from the pain. Gladys doesn’t understand this since she’s been tweezing since she was out of diapers.

While George is busy at work on his computer, Gladys rolls her office chair next to his with tweezers in hand, and begins to thin the forest from the outside edge of his right ear. He winces, cries, and loses track of what he was doing on his computer. When she starts on his left ear, he yells, “Stop! I’m waiting for those to grow long enough I can do a comb-over!”

Gladys has a Bad Hair Day

Gladys still teases her hair to give it volume and over-combs it to style it. Good grief, you’d think she was still living in the sixties! It’s Sunday morning and she’s getting ready for church services. Shower, makeup, hairdo—in that order.

The phone rings and she takes the call. She then rushes through the house to make sure the children are dressed and ready to leave on time. She is known for her organization skills and her promptness, and this particular Sunday will be another validation of her capabilities.

She arrives at the sanctuary fifteen minutes early so she can post the hymn numbers at the front of the chapel. You see, she is the chorister. Her several children are seated on the pew beside George and she is seated near the podium where she will stand to lead the music when the time comes.

Using the baton her father left her when he died, she leads the music confidently with almost the same finesse her father had done.

One hour later, she meets with the pastor to discuss changing from chorister to organist. As she leaves the pastor’s office, she is facing a large mirror on the wall opposite his office door. Her heart falls through the floor and she wishes she could disappear with it! There she is—her hair combed down on one side and still teased high into the air on the other side. THE PHONE CALL!

She rushes into the restroom where one of her dear friends is just washing her hands. “Good grief!” she exclaims to her friend. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me my hair was such a mess?”

“You know, my husband asked me if I thought you knew your hair looked like that,” she said with a smile.

Gladys is taking her off her BFF list!

The Honeymoon

Gladys leaves the wedding reception wearing jeans and in tears. A friend of her mother's had tried to be funny, and had grabbed the front of her borrowed wedding gown to throw a handful of rice down her nonexistent chest, and ripped the front of the dress.

George opened the car door for her and began to pull the crumpled wrapping paper from her seat to make room for her to sit down. The getaway would take ten 30-gallon garbage bags full of wrapping paper to make room for them in the front seat. Anxious to make their exit, they left the remnants of rice all over the floor, dashboard, and in the door handles, and didn’t bother to clean out the remaining wadded gift wrap from the rear seat. They had driven only a block when they heard a small voice from behind them say, “Hey, let me out!”

By the time they returned the stowaway, most of the tin cans dragging behind them had fallen off and they drove to their apartment where they planned to spend their first night before their great adventure to the outback. George, being such a gentleman, carried Gladys’ suitcase and set it down as he used his key to unlock the door. When the door was open, he gallantly swept Gladys up in his arms and promptly tripped over the suitcase throwing her onto the floor inside.

Gladys is Thrifty

Thrift is one of Gladys' attributes. She has the uncanny ability to make someone else’s rejects from the Good Will store look like the latest fashion, often receiving compliments on her stunning attire.

Gladys has joined the Women’s Auxiliary Club where each month the women of her city dress up, have a luncheon, and plan for the next civic event they are sponsoring.  

She has chosen a simple gray dress with just the right amount of feminine charm in the form of a black and white polka dot infinity scarf to merit a classy look of elegance. She has chosen gray sling back heels that match the color of her dress exactly. She is the picture of perfection.

As she is comfortably engaging in conversation at the luncheon table, she feels something tug under her arm. “Do you always advertise where you shop?” her neighbor asks, tugging her Good Will price tag.

George: Did we make love?

George: Honey, did we make love late last night?

Gladys: Probably. You mean you forgot already? Why do you ask?

George: Well, I needed to go to the bathroom at work, and I didn’t have a fly in my jockey shorts, so I went into a stall and undid my belt and pulled my pants down. That’s when I realized my shorts were on backwards.

Gladys at work

Gladys worked on the Salt Lake City Olympics planning committee. At eight-and-a-half months pregnant, she was having a rather miserable day feeling nauseated and generally uncomfortable. She was trying to get caught up on her paperwork just in case she went into labor early. It was late in the day and her coworkers had all gone home for the day.

She had terrible stomach cramps and finally felt the freedom to release the gas that had been causing her so much discomfort. She cut loose with a long, loud, and smelly wind.

Moments later, a coughing spell broke out in the cubicle next to hers, where a gentleman had been quietly working late.

George: We Deliver

George couldn’t miss basketball practice even after Gladys explained she thought she might be in labor. He said he’d hurry home from practice and take her to the hospital if she still felt she was in labor.

When George arrived home, sweaty and smelly, Gladys announced she was definitely in labor and her water had just broken. George said he’d quickly shower if she’d call the neighbor to come and watch the other children while they rushed to the hospital.

Gladys made the phone call from her bed where she was laying on bath towels. She told Miss Babysitter the situation and then let out a scream to George as she felt the baby start to crown.

George made a hasty exit out of the shower not taking time to towel off. The front door opened and Miss Babysitter came running into the house just as George ran out of the bathroom and across the hall to the bedroom where he caught baby Ann as she made her arrival.

We’re not sure who had the most bragging rights: Gladys, that she gave birth at home on her bed; George, that he delivered his new daughter at home; Ann, that she was delivered by her father at home on her parents’ bed; or Miss Babysitter, who witnessed George delivering his wife’s baby at home in the nude.