My Fruit

aging, comedy, customer service, family, Food, holiday, Humor, music, shopping, women

Can’t Always Get What You Want

Someone I know had a birthday last week.  I ordered a cake and yes, it was from the same store where the lady talked deli to me so it didn’t go off without a hitch or glitch or whatever you call it. In fact, the whole experience reminded me of a song that came out when I was in first grade.

It all began three days before the party with a call to the bakery.  Someone sort of answered, but they didn’t want to talk because they sat the phone on the counter without saying a word. I could hear bakers chatting and laughing with each other, but none of them were chatting and laughing with me. When there was a break in the action one of them picked up the phone and asked what I wanted. I told her that I wanted to order a white 8-inch round double layered cake with 10 orange and yellow roses on top.  The birthday boy wasn’t turning 10-he did that about 44 years ago-but his favorite part of the cake is the icing so getting a lot of it is important. One rose was the ‘to grow on’ rose. Given the amount of icing that would be on that cake there definitely would be some growing, but it was gonna be out rather than on. The call ended and I began to wonder if I would actually get what I wanted.

The next evening, my phone rang. It was the bakery lady and she wanted to talk bakery to me. She called to make sure that I really wanted 10 flowers on top of the party cake. “Yes” I said, “I want 10 flowers.” She laughed and told me that 10 was a lot of flowers to put on a small cake, but that she’d do it anyway.  It’s great when the bakery lady agrees to do what the customer wants. When I hung up the phone I wondered if I would actually get what I wanted.

Birth Day arrived and it was time to pick up the party cake.  I arrived at the counter and nobody was there. I looked around and saw a lady standing about 10 yards away from me emptying boxes.  I kept looking around, including back at her, but nothing.  Finally, she walked over to another customer whom she clearly knew and they sauntered off to the produce section as they got caught up on things.  When she returned, I was still standing there in plain view, but she said nothing.  So I yelled over, “Excuse me-Do you work in the bakery?”  “Oh yes” she said, as if nothing unusual was happening, “What do you want?”  When I told her I’d been waiting to pick up a cake she proclaimed that she was busy helping another customer. I bet she got a black mark by her name.  That’s what my mom said you get when you lie-even if you don’t want it.

It was time for the reveal party-the one where I got to see if what was on the cake was actually what I wanted.  It’s like the party before the real party and most of the time I’m more surprised than the birthday boy is when he actually gets the cake.  It was a white 8-inch round double layer cake with yellow and orange flowers on top…9 of them.  There was plenty of room for one more so either the flower maker couldn’t count or she decided birthday boy really didn’t need the one ‘to grow on.’  Should I tell the lady with the black mark by her name that I ordered 10 globs of butter and sugar instead of just 9? That I’m not leaving until another rose was added to the cake? I decided to let it go and that’s when the Beatles’ song…oops…Rolling Stones’ song…started playing in my head.

“…You can’t always get what you want

But if you try sometimes you just might find

You get what you need” And nobody needs 10 roses.

 

Thanks for reading. Remember to always #sharethelaughter!

Eliza G.

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aging, comedy, Humor, language, women, work

She Left a What?

Over a 3-day period I participated in several meetings with a few people I had just met. Something funny happened during one of those meetings that got me thinking.

We were heavily involved in our first discussion when one attendee leaned forward to rest her arms on the table while she shared her perspective.  The only problem was, I think she shared a little more than she intended. She left a pooker. That’s what we used to call it when I was little-a pooker. I’m not sure I’m spelling it correctly because I searched over 200 synonyms and couldn’t find the word pooker. It sounds like cooker and looker, but it’s pooker.  Perhaps my Slovakian family was the only one to use that word, but you know what I mean when I say, “She left a pooker.” Well, her pooker was clearly heard by everyone in attendance because there was a split second pause in the discussion and people didn’t know where to look. I’m not gonna lie, it was hard to hold in the laughter.  I had to clear my throat a few times and shuffle through some papers just to redirect my attention and gain internal composure. That was one time when I didn’t want to share the laughter.

That was the first time I’ve heard that happen in a business meeting. I’ve heard it at grandma’s house when she shuffle-farted as she moved around the kitchen cleaning up after dinner.  Everyone sitting within earshot snickered because it sounded like she was walking across bubble wrap-the kind with big bubbles. Grandma didn’t miss a pop and never let on anything happened. I know, it was grandma, but come on, it was funny and a snicker was more polite than an outright laugh so I did hold it in.

I also heard a pooker at yoga class. Someone got into a pose and had a little trouble not letting out.  I thought the seam on the lady’s denim yoga pants was giving way, but that wasn’t the case. Trust me, it’s hard to hold a pose and keep your balance when you’re trying to hold in a giggle.  You thought I was gonna write, “fart” but I didn’t because it wasn’t me.  She did it.  Yeah, I know, it was a stress fart, but it still was funny.

Which leads me to what I was stinking. Oops, I mean thinking. Why is it so funny when it happens in some situations, but not in others? Is it the circumstance under which it happens?  The nonchalant nature of the pookerer or the reaction of the pookeree?  I guess it doesn’t really matter because when it’s funny, it’s funny and while someone else let it out, you have to hold it in.

Toot-a-loo,

Eliza G.

 

aging, comedy, Community, Humor, Travel, women

Ta-Da! It’s a Circus

I recently shared a few fabulously funny things that I saw while traveling by air a few weeks ago.  I wrote a story about jiggling during pre-boarding and another about inflight crinkling by Chris Crinkle. I have one more story to share about that flight and it will close out the trifecta. Three funny stories on one short flight just shows to go ya, there are a lot of funny things happening in everyday life-if you just pay attention.

During boarding, I watched a tall chubby man shuffle down the aisle to his seat, which happened to be in the row in front of me.  Chubby is a word my father-in-law used to describe me during the later months of pregnancy.  I didn’t like it. Now that I’m using it in this story I realize what he really meant was that I was big.  He must have felt that chubby was a kinder word choice-but it wasn’t and I still think of him every time I hear that word.  Anyway, he-the passenger, not my father-in-law-carried a personal item and one small overstuffed bag that would not fit into the overhead bin.  I don’t know where he ended up putting all of his stuff, but I did hear him call the plane a “clown plane” because “everything was so small.”  Funny how he and I perceived the mismatch between his size, the size of his bag, and the size of the plane, differently.

I sat in my seat minding my business and hoping that once seated, he wouldn’t reduce my 17×29 space by reclining his seat.  He didn’t and all was well until it was time to deplane.  No, I’m not talking about the Tattoo type of ‘de plane’ but the actual ‘getting off the plane’ type of deplane.

Anyone who has flown knows what happens during deplaning. The pilot shuts off the seat belt sign and people jump up from their seats like jack-in-the-boxes.  Where do they think they are going?  The door isn’t even open yet and they’re already standing up, grabbing their bags, and lining up to get out. I just sat and watched. You see a lot of interesting things when you just sit and watch things unfold.

Unsurprisingly, the chubby man couldn’t get out of his ‘clown seat’.  He wiggled and yes, he jiggled, but he couldn’t get out.  Luckily, another passenger must have worked in the circus because she knew how to release chubby clowns from the clown car, or in this case, plane.  She reached in and pushed a button under the armrest of the man’s seat and ta-da, he was free to move about the cabin. But that wasn’t the only act in the show.  He did acrobatics. For whatever reason, he decided he had enough room to bend over and pick something up from the floor in front the seats across the aisle. I was impressed that he held triangle pose that long. When he stood back up he hit his head on the ceiling and that made him drop his overstuffed bag. A downward dog to pick it up and a few shuffles later, he was finally ready to deplane.  It was quite a show. I think he had it wrong when he called the plane a clown plane.  He should have called it a circus.

Thanks for sharing the laughter!

Eliza G.

aging, comedy, Dining, Humor, language, Travel, women

Chris Crinkle

On September 25th I was on a work-related trip that involved air travel.  I thought about how in just three months I would be celebrating Christmas with family and enjoying a little time away from work.  But then I realized that someone else on the plane must have been thinking about the holidays too and he must have been a little anxious about it all.

When I boarded the plane, I noticed a lady carrying a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. As she carried on her doughnuts she chatted in a foreign language with the women in front of her.  Actually, I’m not sure if ‘foreign language’ is an appropriate term to use these days. I’ve lost track of what we can and cannot say-even when it’s not meant in a negative way. So perhaps I should just say, “In a language I did not understand” and then I won’t get into trouble.

As it turned out, I was seated right next to the two ladies speaking a language I didn’t understand and the doughnuts.  While the doughnuts smelled good, I didn’t get one. Instead, I got a bag of airline pretzels packaged in a shiny silver bag that made a crinkling sound when handled. You can imagine all the crinkling that was going on as passengers ravished their free bag of airline pretzels. It was like they hadn’t eaten in several days and those 10 pretzels were going to save them from the brink of death. The good thing was that it didn’t take long to eat the pretzels so in less than 5 minutes the bags were empty and discarded and silence returned as everyone began to beaver sleep or play games on their small electronic devices. Everyone except Chris Crinkle.

Chris was the man sitting across the aisle in the window seat and wearing headphones. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him holding that crinkling pretzel bag in one hand and massaging it like it was a stress ball.  Over and over he squeezed the bag holding it this way and that way-just like you do when you are worried or anxious about something-such as the upcoming holidays. I know he has a big job and this is probably a busy time of year but I wanted him to stop and so did the doughnut lady who was glaring across the aisle at him. “Oh this going to be good,” I thought, “she’ll make him stop by giving him a doughnut.”  But she didn’t and he didn’t-he never noticed the glare and just kept on crinkling-for over 20 minutes.  Doughnut lady finally said to me in a language I could understand, “That’s my husband doing that and it is so annoying. I have no way to stop it because he has headphones on and won’t look my way so that I can tell him to stop it.”  I just smiled and kept trying to block it out.  After all, I want Chris Crinkle to visit me in just three months.

Thanks for reading my #fabulouslyfunny stories about everyday life!  Be sure to #sharethelaughter ! Follow the laughter on Twitter @Fruitofthewomb1

Eliza G.

aging, comedy, exercise, fitness, Health, Humor, introvert, Travel, women

When the Jiggler Jiggles

I was at the airport the other day and while I saw a lot of what makes everyday life funny, I discovered that the little something here and there isn’t as stable as it used to be.

When I arrived at the gate, there were many seats available and very few people in sight. I chose an end seat near the edge of the seating area so that I would remain secluded as long as possible.  As departure time approached the seating area began to fill and people started moving into my area.  My area was no longer my area.

As I sat there staring out the window I began to sense something that I didn’t like.  Someone in my row of hooked-together seats was jiggling.  I hate jiggling.  Yes, I know hate is a strong word and I probably shouldn’t use it, but I am, because I hate jiggling.  Actually, it’s not the act of jiggling that I hate. It’s the jiggling that occurs in response to the act of jiggling that gets to me.  You see, when someone jiggles, I jiggle.  When I jiggle, I’m reminded there is a little extra something here and there because that little extra something here and there jiggles when the jiggler jiggles. You jiggle, I jiggle, we all jiggle together-even when we don’t want to.

So there I sat, like a human seismograph recording seismic waves in the form of jiggles.  At one point I glanced down the row to see who was responsible for the jiggling.  It was a lady about four seats away and her legs were jiggling up and down.  I thought that a long stare in her direction would stop the jiggle, but it didn’t.  In fact, it seemed to increase. On my second glance down the row I saw that a jiggling male, sitting next to the jiggling lady, was also jiggling.  His legs were jiggling side to side.  That couple was like a fine oiled jiggling machine with one set of legs going up and down and the other going side to side.  And my little something here and there? Well, let’s just say, I hate jiggling.

aging, comedy, Community, Humor, Pets, shopping, women

Something Old, Something New

I went to the Habitat for Humanity Restore the other day. I wasn’t shopping for anything in particular, but I thought I’d stop in and look around at the old stuff people no longer wanted.  Surprisingly, I found something new and I’m still trying to get over it.

Upon arriving at the store, I noticed two ladies just inside the door and each was pushing a shopping cart.  I was drawn to the shirt worn by one of the ladies because it was an oversized brightly colored tank top with the words Live, Laugh, Love on the front of it.  When I finished reading the profound words on her shirt my attention shifted to her cart where someone was sitting in the place where a child usually sits.  The lady seemed a little old to have a child small enough to ride in that seat, but who am I to judge.  I like to see cute little kids so I took a closer look and I’m still trying to get over what I saw. It was a poodle-a frickin poodle-wearing a striped, pastel colored t-shirt with the words Mommy’s favorite written on the back.  I’m not gonna lie-it was a lot to take in. I’m in the Restore to buy some old junk and Mimi is shopping with her dressed up ‘doghter’ perched in the kid seat like a queen on her throne.  And that damn dog was just looking around like she was picking out something for her royal playroom.

I needed to move on so I could digest what I saw, but I couldn’t.  Live, Laugh, Love was blocking my getaway path.  I was afraid to look at lady #2, but then I decided what the hell, it couldn’t get much worse.  I was wrong. Mimi’s friend also had a shopping dog only her shopper was laying in the main part of the cart-where normal people put the stuff they plan to buy.  Her ‘dogson’ wasn’t actually shopping for his playroom.  Instead, he was bundled in a light blue baby blanket and napped while mommy pushed him around the Restore.

Call me sheltered or whatever you want to call me, but really? When did people start taking their dogs shopping?  Better yet, why did they start taking them shopping? And even more better yet, when did stores start allowing dogs in the store to shop? Something new happened at the Restore and I’m still trying to get over it.

Thanks for sharing the laughter!  Make sure you laughed today!

Eliza G.

 

aging, comedy, Community, exercise, fitness, Health, Humor, Pets, women

Dog Jog

After my fitness tracker stopped working and Fitbit wouldn’t flip the switch to fix it, I decided that I needed to do a little more physical activity, otherwise I would ‘just stay fat.’

I used to be a runner.  Now that I think about it, runners can usually run a decent distance and supposedly, they get some kind of high, so maybe I really wasn’t a runner.  But I tried.  I ran a few 5K races and while it was rewarding to reach the finish line, I never really enjoyed it. In fact, this one time at 5K camp, I was near the back of the pack and this guy starting running next to me. For the rest of the race he told me all about how he was battling lung disease.  I think that gives you a good idea of my running ability.

While that was 25 years ago and I haven’t run much since, my running has not improved. It’s really not even a run, but then again, it’s also not a walk.  I guess it’s more of a shuffle. I had to add the shuffle back into my workout regime so my clothes would still fit. I don’t run competitively anymore though. I decided I didn’t need to pay $50 to run on the same streets that I run on 3-4 times a week for free. I might feel differently if there’s a Q-pon and the cost is only $25. But in reality, I don’t need another race t-shirt or to hang with my chronic lunger friends at the back of the pack.

The other day while I was shuffling I could hear a golf cart approaching from behind. A lot of people in my neighborhood drive around on golf carts even though we don’t live on a golf course. Anyway, as the cart got closer I noticed the driver was holding out his left hand and in it, was a leash. At the end of the leash was a dog who was jogging alongside the cart.  Me, the cart, and the dog were in sync for a few seconds and then they pulled away. I just kept shuffling. That’s when I realized, if this were a real 5K race, the dog on the dog jog would’ve beaten me-just like the chronic lunger did so many years ago.

Have a funny story about everyday life to share? Share the laughter and be a guest blogger. Email me at myfruitofthewomb@gmail.com or DM me on Twitter @Fruitofthewomb1

Happy #FirstDayofFall

Eliza G.