Overheard in January 2014

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January is over. It is now time to post all of the conversations I have heard this month that are interesting. This month was also unique in that I saw quite a few facial expressions that could have spoken a thousand words. Such as this one:

The man behind me at Trader Joe’s. I honestly did not notice he only had two items. If I had, I would have let him go in front of me. Always.

But I did not notice until the cashier was halfway through ringing up my items. I apologized, twice, but only got a tight lipped smile. Then, and this is the best part, as I was loading up my car, I saw him jump onto a motorbike and slip onto his head a Star Wars X-Wing Fighter helmet. I guess I was making him late for fighting The Empire.

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I was at Trader Joe’s and I was listening to the cashier behind me exclaim over the food that was in the woman in her lane’s cart.

“Oh I love this!”

“This is so good.”

“I’m eating this for lunch. Today.”

“This brand is the best!”

Then she laughed and said sweetly to the woman whose food she had been admiring, “Your palate and my palate are friends.”

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My sister banged her elbow on a table. Her son (my sweet almost three years old nephew) came over to give it a kiss to make her feel better.

When she told him thank you and that he indeed had made her feel better, he replied, “It’s all part of the job, Mom.”

So cute.

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My husband and I were at Costco. We were browsing the books. You might not know this, but, um, we don’t have enough of them.

There was an elderly couple leafing through a hardcover book next to me.

The husband said to his wife, “Let’s check. Nope. No pictures. I all ready have this book on my Kindle. There’s no point in buying the paper copy if it ain’t got no pictures.”

I never thought of it that way before. I thought it was amusing. But now I wonder, has there really ever been such a thing? A paperback copy different from the Kindle version?

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This story was told to my husband this week. Thankfully he doesn’t make it a point to hang out in men’s restrooms. The story is so good. I just have to share it:

My husband’s coworker was in the restroom at a pizza parlor with his buddy. They had finished their business and were washing their hands.

My husband’s coworker started drying his hands with one of those new Dyson hand dryers.

He commented to his buddy, “I have got to get one of these for my house!”

Just then another man also finished his business.

He walked by them towards the door, without stopping to wash his hands.

So the coworker said to his buddy, “Or I guess I could just not wash my hands.” And you can probably imagine the tone and conjecture that was used there.

The man left, but came back one minute later. I guess it took him that long to figure it out. Let’s also take a moment to notice that they are still standing there admiring the hand dryer.

The man approached my husband’s coworker and said, “Do you have a problem with me not washing my hands?”

This is where we must also pause to visualize this actually happening in a men’s restroom. And this conversation actually taking place. And we must chuckle.

Okay. Moving on.

My husband’s coworker responded, “Well, actually, yes I do have a problem with it. You just went to the bathroom and then you touched that door on your way out. Then you touched that door again on your way back in. Now I am going to have to touch that door when I leave. It’s disgusting.”

The man said, “Well, what do you want to do about it? Take this outside?”

My husband’s coworker responded, “Sure. But you’ve got to wash your hands first.”

The man got flustered and left.

I will now never not wonder if a hand washing fight is breaking out in a men’s restroom whenever I walk by one.

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I watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I know. I know. I have cut all of the rest of them out. Although, I might watch the New York version. The drama and just extreme petty nonsense gets to be much too much. But I love the New York setting.

Anyway, this week, my husband took me to a nice relaxing romantic lunch. While we were sitting, an extremely loud woman decided to take it upon herself to recount the previous episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I heard all of this from five tables away.

This will probably only amuse you if you watch the show. I condensed the conversation quite a bit.

“Oh my gosh! Did you like see the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills last night?”

Without waiting for a reply. In fact, there was not another person who dared to speak at that eight party table during her entire monologue.

“It was like the best episode of my whole entire life.

There is like a whole new cast this season.

Taylor is gone. She like left with a lawyer. But, like Lisa is still on and she is like fighting with Brandy.

There is a new girl, Carlton. She’s like English, too. But like she is not classy like Lisa. All she says is, ‘Bloody Hell.’ Oh, and she is like totally a witch. I know, right.

So, her and Joyce, this other like new girl. She has like really long hair and anyway she like told Carlton she didn’t believe in witchcraft.

And then Carlton went off on her.

And Brandy like held up her hand and was like, ‘Oh my gosh. Carlton just cast a spell on Joyce.’

But then like Joyce told Carlton she just like wanted to live her life in peace. And she didn’t believe in like that stuff.

So Joyce went home. And they like cut to next week’s episode and Joyce’s husband got totally sick that night! And not like real sick. But like sick sick. And like she is totally going to confront Carlton about casting a spell on her.”

This is where she like totally paused for breath and I like totally started listening to my like husband.

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At a winery, I watched a mother who had brought her two year old to the winery (and yes, there were long moments of screaming throughout the tasting room) make her two year old stand outside the doors and wave good bye to the winery.

“Say good bye to the winery.”

“NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“We’re not leaving until you say, ‘good bye’ to the winery.”

“Grbe. Enery.” Big wave while holding a giant Mickey Mouse doll.

Don’t judge.

That’s how I say good bye to wineries, too.

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Did you overhear anything good this month? Are you ready for February?

It’s The Little Things: A Funny Spider Story

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I had a post about a product half-written for my Littlest Things weekly post. I kept trying to sit down and finish it, but after yesterday’s post, my heart just felt sad. And whenever that happens, all I want to do is laugh. And the best way I can think of laughing is to poke fun at myself. So I am going to toss all logic out the window and just share a funny thing that happened to me a couple of weeks ago.

First, you might need the backstory if you are new here. The short version is, I don’t kill Daddy Long Leg Spiders in my house. It is a craziness tradition passed down from my grandmother to my mother to me (although she recently told me she has begun to clear them out. Traitor). My husband goes along with it. In fact, he is the wrangler of the spiders. He moves them from spot to spot. With his barehands. Yep, he is a regular old enabler CowSpiderboy.

Second, my husband and I take baths together. This is the part where my children run through the house screaming and crying over too much sharing. But we do. In a completely platonic way. It is the best time to unwind and talk over our day. And we are guaranteed that we will not be interrupted.

Okay. Now that both of those disturbing and freaky facts are out of the way, we can finally begin:

My husband and I were taking a bath. We were conversing. And everything seemed to be going smoothly.

But halfway through the bath, my husband looked at me and a horrified expression broke out across his face. He was staring at the top of my head. There obviously was something on it.

I knew.

I knew that I was going to die.

“WHAT IS IT?!” I immediately screamed. Because panicking is what I do best.

Instead of answering my question, my husband gave me these instructions, “Don’t. Move.”

So, what would you do?

Would you sit there calmly not knowing what was on your head? Would you wait for an explanation?

Or would you do what I did and lose your mind?

I shrieked, “IS IT A BLACK WIDOW?!”

You are probably wondering why I would immediately jump to Black Widow. And I am going to have to answer, I have no flipping idea. No, we do not have an infestation of Black Widows… At our house. Yes, we do have an infestation of crazy… In our minds.

No reply.

“IS. IT. A. BLACK. WIDOW???!!!

Still no reply.

So, at this point I know. I know I have a black widow on my head and it is going to bite me. And I am going to die. My head all bloated and disfigured in the bathtub. My naked body wrinkled and cold waiting for the coroner to come.

I began to thrash and scream. I was trying to drown the black widow in the bathtub. If I was going to be humiliated, I was taking the little sucker down with me.

My husband quickly jumped out of the bathtub. He calmly told me to stop moving around.

“AM I DEAD?! DID IT BITE ME?!” I managed to scream in between dunking my head over and over into the water. Water was sloshing everywhere. My head was getting banged against the faucet. I am a treat. A downright gift to marriage.

All of a sudden my husband grabbed my legs from outside the bathtub. Then he dragged me feet first and yanked me onto the cold tile floor.

First, can I tell you how much that hurt? My back will never be the same.

I was sobbing.

And let’s pause for a moment and reflect on the fact that this scenario is happening in the buff.

You’re welcome.

I couldn’t feel where I had been injected, but I knew my head must be the size of a watermelon. “WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE? CALL 9-1-1! MAYBE THEY CAN GIVE ME AN ANTIDOTE!”

My husband was stoically quiet.

“WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING ME? I’M DEAD! CALL 9-1-1!”

Still ignoring me. Still quiet. He was staring into the churning water that had just moments before been a peaceful sanctuary.

“Is it dead?” I managed to mutter in-between rocking myself on the hard floor.

I wiped my eyes and peered into the bathtub. I couldn’t find the Black Widow.

I didn’t see anything.

“Where is it?”

Then another horrifying thought occurred to me and I lurched to my wobbly feet. “IS IT STILL ON ME? OH MY GOD! GET IT!”

My husband was in a quiet ponder. He just pointed to a tiny shape in the bathtub. It looked like a small wadded up ball of string.

“It’s right there.”

“That’s the Black Widow?!”

It sure didn’t look like one.

My husband sighed. “There was no Black Widow. It was just a Daddy Long Legs.”

If one month ago, you felt the Earth tilt on its orbit, shudder, and then keep on spinning, please know that that was just my emotions catching up with my brain. Or maybe the following syllable being screeched. “WHAT?!”

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“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT? You know I’m not scared of Daddy Long Legs!” I paused. “And why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t a black widow?”

My husband looked resigned as he scooped the tragic fellow of my tale from the tub. “You didn’t give me a chance. You just started freaking out.”

“Well, you made me freak out when you wouldn’t answer me.”

It was at this point my back that had been dragged across the side of the bathtub began to throb. “And my back! Why did you drag me out of the bathtub?”

“I thought you were going to drown yourself. You should have seen it. You were flailing. You were going to get hurt.”

I rubbed my back, “Yea. Well. Next time, just say it’s a Daddy Long Legs. Then none of this would have happened.”

I said, “next time,” because it’s us. There will always be a next time.

I mean with as many Daddy Long Legs I keep in my house, it was only a matter of time before one made it into a fashion post. Poor fellow. All he wanted to be was a hat. I prefer them much better when they are just pretending to be art on the wall.

I’m quite terrified some of them are going to gather together and make me a necklace.

Hey! I’m just like Cinderella.

Only without a fairy godmother.

Or a glass slipper.

Although, I do have plenty of chores to do. And creatures at my beck-in-call.

Let’s just hope I never get invited to a ball.

I shudder to think what those spiders will come up with as a dress.

Besides, I don’t think my poor prince husband or my back can take any more fashion assistance from our eight-legged guests.

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It’s the little things: a funny story coming from terror. Or learning something new about yourself.

Have you had a similar thing happen to you? Do you kill the spiders in your home? Did you learn any life lessons this week?

My husband has. He has definitely learned some valuable lessons from all of this.

1. He married a crazy person.

2. That crazy person wants to keep spiders all over the house.

3. When one of those spiders crawls onto her she will immediately freak out and attempt a drowning suicide.

4. Relaxing baths should just be called baths around here.

5. He should have been a cowboy.

The Lazy Mom’s Salad

Who knew? Who knew my kids would have a fondness for spinach? Certainly not me.

I did not try spinach until about five years ago. I was terrified of the stuff. Here is what I knew about spinach that prevented me from trying it:

When eaten your body would become grossly disfigured causing monstrous veiny muscles to spontaneously burst out upon your arms.

When cooked it would shrivel away into a slimy green paste that resembled nothing of its former self.

It is green.

So I stayed clear of spinach. No thank you. “Olive Oil go rescue yourself and stop being so annoying. And, no, I am not eating spinach. Especially to save you.” There I said it. Oh, you know you were thinking it.

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But I tried it as a salad. I loved it. It is so velvety and mild. I thought perhaps my children would love it, too.

And they did.

And they do.

More than me.

More than my husband.

More than Pop…

No, not more than him. Their bodies don’t combust for the stuff.

Thank God.

I won’t make a salad unless it is easy. Dinner is all ready so time consuming. Here is how I always make my salad, 3-4 times a week. We never get tired of it.

Ingredients:

5 – 6 oz. of prewashed baby spinach (best flavor I have found is Safeway or Vons O Organic) or prewashed romaine lettuce
1/3 cup Italian dressing (whichever is cheapest)
1/3 cup feta cheese

Optional for the less lazy:

Chopped red bell pepper
Chopped sun-dried tomatoes

Directions:

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Dump salad in a bowl. Sorry. Forgot to take a picture of it in the bowl. But here it is before that step. All innocent. It doesn’t even know what’s going to happen to it.

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Measure feta. Dump feta in the bowl.

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Measure Italian dressing. Dump the dressing in the bowl. Toss.

And try not use the word dump while you are cooking. Just a thought. A suggestion. Don’t take offense or poke my eye out! “A-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga!”

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That’s it. Three ingredients. If this salad could talk it would say, “I am what I am and that’s all that I am. Or all that’s in me.”

You could also dump (Sorry. Couldn’t resist) in the optional ingredients at this point. But be warned that most kids don’t like the extra ingredients.

Now go rescue Olive Oil take a nap. Cause that was exhausting.

“A-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga!”

And I Become The Crazy Rabbit Lady

I saw these Menagerie Pillows online and I knew. I had to have them. Then Anthropologie had a customer appreciation day and they went 15% off.

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I purchased two of them for my husband to give to me at Christmas. But then they came.

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And I fell in love.

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They have pompom balls. There is even one on the back. Get it? It’s a tail.

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I have one in each of my yellow chairs.

And now it is official. I am the crazy bunny lady. Or the crazy Alice in Wonderland girl….

I’ll take it! Excuse me… I have a pillow I must go cuddle. No carrots required.

* I shared this on Savvy Southern Style

And My Romantic Home