Monday Laughs

Its rather late in the day, but what the hell, its still Monday here. Got some funnies in my mailbox after a long time.
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Two deaf men were in a coffee shop discussing their wives.
One signs to the other, boy was my wife mad at me last night! She went on and on and wouldn’t stop!
The other Buddy says when my wife goes off on me I just don’t pay her any attention.
How do you do that? Says the other.

It’s easy! I just turn off the light!
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One bright, beautiful Sunday morning, everyone in a small town wakes up early and goes to their local church. Before the service starts, the townspeople sit in their pews and talk about their lives and their families.

Suddenly, at the altar, Satan appears!! Everyone starts screaming and running for the front entrance, trampling each other in their determined efforts to get away from Evil Incarnate. Soon, everyone is evacuated from the church except for one man, who sit calmly in his pew, seemingly oblivious to the fact that God’s ultimate enemy is in his presence. This confuses Satan a bit. Satan walks up to the man and says, “Hey, don’t you know who I am?” The man says, “Yep, sure do.”
Satan says, “Well, aren’t you afraid of me?”
The man says, “Nope, sure ain’t.”
Satan, perturbed, says, “And why aren’t you afraid of me?”
The man says, “Well, I’ve been married to your sister for 25 years.”
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A blonde decides to try horse back riding without prior experience or lessons. She mounts the horse with great effort, and the tall, shiny horse springs into motion.

It gallops along at a steady and rhythmic pace, but the blonde begins to slip from the saddle. Out of shear terror, she grabs for the horse’s mane but cannot seem to get a firm grip. She tries to throw her arms around the horse’s neck, but she slides down the side of the horse anyway. The horse gallops along, seemingly oblivious to its slipping rider.
Finally, giving up her frail grip, she leaps away from the horse to try and throw herself to safety.
Unfortunately, her foot has become entangled in the stirrup. She is now at the mercy of the horse’s pounding hooves as her head is struck against the ground again and again. As her head is battered against the ground, she is mere moments away from unconsciousness or even death when Frank, the Wal-Mart manager runs out to shut the horse off
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Have a great week folks





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The Power Of Being Punctual

Found this in my inbox this morning.
Had to share it

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A Priest was being honoured at his retirement dinner after 25 years in the parish. A leading local politician and member of the congregation was chosen to make the presentation and to give a little speech at the dinner.

However, he was delayed, so the Priest was asked to say a few words in the meanwhile. Not being prepared to speak then, he wondered for a minute and then decided to share his experience on the first day in the parish to highlight how one should not rush to conclusions.

‘I got my first impression of the parish from the first confession I heard here. I thought I had been assigned to a terrible place. The very first person who entered my confessional told me he had stolen a
television set and, when questioned by the police, was able to lie his way out of it. He had stolen money from his parents, embezzled from his employer, had an affair with his boss’s wife, taken illegal drugs, and gave VD to his neighbour. I was appalled.

But as the days went on I learned that my people were not all like that and I had, indeed, come to a fine parish full of good and loving people.’….

Just as the Priest finished his talk, the politician arrived full of apologies at being late. He immediately began to make the presentation and gave his talk: ‘I’ll never forget the first day our parish Priest arrived,’ said the politician. ‘In fact, I had the honour of being the first person to go to him for confession.’

Moral : *Never, Ever Be Late.*
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5 Seduction-In-Car Stunts That Middle-Aged Mommies (Or ANY Woman for that matter) Should Never Try

( Phew!! Take a break. That title would have worn you out. Here then, take a sip of this water. Feeling better? Alright then, read on!)

Since I was a little kid, I loved those hindi songs more which were picturized on a moving car. If in a convertible, the heroine would be standing, holding on to the windshield, her scarf/dupatta fluttering in  the wind and happiness writ large on her face. She would sing of love and devotion and clear skies with puffy clouds in the same breath and the hero would smirk on confidently. Sometimes, she would tire out and snuggle up to him on the front seat. She would coo up at him and he would be gentlemanly enough to give her an indulgent glance before focussing on more pressing needs such as driving the car in a straight line. If he felt more generous, he would quickly whip out a bunch of glass bangles from under the seat and hand it over to his lady love. She would giggle like a five year old who has just been given her first Barbie. He may croon a few loving words himself, aligning his heart with the fragility of those bangles and the heroine would just simper and snuggle up closer. She might even light up a cancer-stick for him!!

The front seat in those days permitted such close movements. Drat you Maruti for bringing in the bucket seats . And even if the world at large knew that the car was standing still in some studio while the background moved around crazily, the hero would rarely, rarely take his eyes off the road. No siree…he may be in love and all that jazz, but he knew the traffic rule book . No amount of female adulation would make him lose his focus. He had to keep his car on the road and damn those silly hormones ringing in his ears.

*Sigh* Those were the days…………..

Nowadays we have heroines in skimpy attires woo-ing their men in moving vehicles while the men ogle unashamedly and sometimes, when them hormones ring seriously loud, even stop at a lonely stretch. What he whips out may not resemble glass bangles by any stretch of imagination and what proceeds next is best hidden behind a bunch of flowers. Or scarves. Or dupattas.But the point is, men rarely encourage seduction when the car is in motion.
What hasn’t really changed from then and now, is how men treat their women. And how men treat their women in their cars . They may give their woman fleeting attention, but if she wants more, the car has to stop.It would take a few more generations for women to realize that when weighed on the same scale, cars always, always score higher. They are allowed to weigh more. They are allowed to cost more. They are allowed to have the widest hips available. They are permitted sky-high maintenance. But any man worth his windshield sprinklers will confide (under an ebriated state, of course. Thats when the truth comes out) that given a choice, he would always choose his car over his girl.

Being a veteran of the “Do-You-Prefer-The-Car-Or-Me” brigade and weathering many a frosty,air-conditioned storms, I’ve come to the conclusion that when a man is driving, you just let him be. Let him caress the steering and stroke those gears. Let him play footsie with the clutch/brake/accelerator and croon sweet nothings at the dashboard. Leave him to steal glances at his own reflection in the reirview mirrors. A wise woman is one who doesn’t attempt to come between the man and his car. A wise woman carries along a book for the long distances and carries her longing for the short ones. A wise woman nods in agreement with every praise the man throws his car’s way. If he says, “look at the way she purrs”, you don’t turn your head towards your window and growl. Firstly, purring doesnt equal growling. Secondly, he didnt mean you. Being a wise woman, you ought to reply sweetly, “Just like a cat” and see him puffing up with pride. I dare say he may even feel a tad more affectionate towards you.

Being a wise woman myself, I now propose all the in-the-car seducing tricks that a middle-aged woman with kids should desist from (heck! I guess ALL women should desist from), if she wants to retain her dignity and the front passenger seat.
So all you middle-aged mommies out there, yeah, you who’s loyal to her post-partum weight even after 10 years, listen up. Here are a few tips on seduction stuff you shouldn’t try in a car.

Note : If you are a woman, single, unmarried, child-free, under twenty-five and weigh less than 52kgs, GET OUT!! Scram. Shoo. Vacate this space asap. This post is so NOT for you!!

(Aaaah….felt good to take that out of my system)

So without much ado, here’s the list :-

1) leggy-lass lacks leg-space : Remember that scene from Jism where John Abraham’s character drives his jeep along some tree-shaded route and Ms Basu’s character props up her healthy legs on the windshield?
Yeah?

Well, erase this  memory. Its a no brainer. Firstly , because we rarely have convertibles/jeeps being driven around. Try that trick in  your enclosed car and you’ll probably be begging the good doctor for an euthanasia rather than having a spine replacement job done.
Secondly, be honest, where exactly do you think your tummy disappears off to when you try and raise your legs high, huh?
And oh! Don’t ever try it out if you have thighs spilling from the sides of your bucket seats. And if you are the type of middle-aged woman who’s still slim as a willow, I HATE YOU already!!!

2) Tickle-me-not : You may have seen movies where a heroine slides a finger down the sides of the hero’s face. She then traces it down to his neck. The hero looks on stoically and it is a testimony to his acting skills that he doesn’t just yelp/squeal and drive the car off the road and crash into a fire hydrant.
Truth is, men are ticklish. They may swear they are made of sterner stuff, but look deeper and each man has his sensitive points (usually the are near the ears, towards the neck). If you know your man’s funny-bone, keep away from  it!! Miles away.Because your man isn’t an actor. He wouldn’t be able to control himself and will probably bill you for all the expenses he’ll have to incur later.

You wouldn’t want to pay up for that now, would you??

3) Go Wordy On Me : Not. Are you the types who loves reading out passages from your novel to your loved one? Do you like poetry and quote Wordsworth or Ogden Nash as your car cruises by the landscape? Do you try to make him understand the beauty of a Byron or a Yeats?
Well, take a break. A permanent one. The only poetry your man understands would be the smooth motion of his car, the sheer comfort of his bucket seat, the boisterous honking of the horn, the demure dipping of its headlights. Get real girl. Yeats is no match for a turbocharged 3.8ltr V6 Engine.

You may try engaging him in a map though. Men LOVE maps

4) Perfume(d) : Seduction by olfactory?! Err…not unless you want to hide the fact that you haven’t really taken a bath for a couple of days . Dab a drop more than needed and see him feverishly pulling down the windows and making sure that he sticks his head out of his window throughout!
You see, when inside a car, he likes to breathe in the leather, the dust of the foot-mats and the gentle fragrance of ambi-pur. Your thousands worth CK or Davidoff don’t matter!! They never did . You may be at your sexiest best, but he may end up looking like this :-

5) The Before and After : So you just had some…..umm.. good time in the car. You’ve reached your place. Its time to get off. You want to have some more fun at home. You drop him a hint.
Chances are, he’ll take the hint ONLY if at your exit, his car’s in the same state as ‘before fun’. If he finds your seat completely reclined, the foot-mat hanging half out of the door, the car-freshner lies on the floor and his favourite Tarzan car-toy is missing a vital piece of clothing, then you better lock the door and tuck yourself in. He isn’t gonna come back for you. Ever!!

If this is what the car looks like when you get off…..be prepared to go home alone

Thats some pearl-of-wisdom there. Feel free to add to the list.

And don’t forget to have a rocking weekend

Ciao.

 

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Grinding My Teeth In Frustration !!

We have a fire drill in the office building next week.

Rather a harmless event, given that we are forewarned (unlike real instances where we need to act without prior intimation) and forearmed. In my company (the one I belong to, not the one where I sit) I used to be a fire-marshall, or the floor incharge. I even received fire-fighting training from the personnel belonging to the fire station nearest to our office. The training was much fun. I learned to differentiate between the A,B and C class of fire-extinguishers. Also learned how to use a water hose and how to change its flow. Much fun was had in the trainings.

(Uh. I think I went off-track there)

Coming back to the fire drill in this office. It is next week. So the security guards in the office were asked to carry out some preliminary rounds and talk to a few people regarding the same. On one such duty, this particular female security guard sidles up to my desk this morning. I look up at her enquiringly. This is how our conversation went :-

Me : Haan?

Female Security (FS) :  Ek baat bolni thi aapse.

Me : Haan bolo.

FS : Agle week iss building mein fire drill hone wala hai.

Me : Haan, mujhe pata hai. Mail aaya tha.

FS : Madam, humko instructions mila hai ki office mein jitni bhi pregnant ladies hai, unka list banana hai.

Me : (remembering how we were trained to follow the same routine) Haan haan, sahi baat hai.

FS : Toh madam, aap pregnant hai na, issliye next week woh siren bajega to aap darna mat. Aapko pehle bahar nikalenge.

Me :  *Stunned speechless*

FS : Madam?! Okay madam??

Me : (Finally able to breathe) Err…ummm…*ahem* *cough*  Mai pregnant nahin hoon.

FS : OHHH !! Sorry madam….mujhe laga…… sorry madam.

(This is the cue for me to breakdown sobbing on my desk and for you to hold your tummy and guffaw out loud )

Me : Nahin nahin…koi baat nahin….

With gentle reassurances, the lady left my desk.

Needless to say peeps, am sorely upset today. I mean, my kids will turn three in a couple of month’s time…and here I am, still hanging on to my cesarean pouch as though my next kid lived in it

Gaaaah!!

Ramzan went by and did nothing to give me a break! I still haven’t lost an ounce! Why O why does the fat love me so?! I’m so hopping mad today !! Haven’t mentioned the tale to the BF. Much ‘I-Told-You-So’s expected . You know, I’ve been trying real hard lately. I’ve changed my diet, have moderate meals , use the stairs and do as much physical work as possible. But looks like its all pittance in the vast ocean of adiposity (is that even a word?!).

*Sigh*

Can anyone please burn away this fat for me……or at least turn that water-hose on me and wash it away?!

Pretty please ?





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Social Media Explained

A day after this post from Ritu, I got this image in a mail :-

 

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That sums it all, doesn’t it?

(And also explains why I’m not that active on any of these sites )





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Jokes Of Another Era

Came across these jokes some time back. It was in the context of changing ‘joke-trends’, about how the jokes have evolved over the ages. These are the jokes from early 1900. I enjoyed them, hope you do too

PS: They might not be rip-roaring funny, but they are definitely in good taste

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The father of a certain charming girl is well known in this town as “a very tight old gentleman.” When dad recently received a young man, who for some time had been “paying attention” to the daughter, it was the old gentleman who made the first observation:

“Huh! So you want to marry my daughter, eh?”

“Yes, sir; very much, indeed.”

“Um–let me see. Can you support her in the style to which she has been accustomed?”

“I can, sir,” said the young man, “but I am not mean enough to do it.”

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This is the way the agent got a lesson in manners. He called at a business office, and saw nobody but a prepossessing though capable-appearing young woman.

“Where’s the boss?” he asked abruptly.

“What is your business?” she asked politely.

“None of yours!” he snapped. “I got a proposition to lay before this firm, and I want to talk to somebody about it.”

“And you would rather talk to a gentleman?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” answered the lady, smiling sweetly, “so would I. But it seems that it’s impossible for either one of us to have our wish, so we’ll have to make the best of it. State your business, please!”

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Alderman Curran, of New York City, worked his way through Yale College. During his course he was kept very busy by the various jobs he did to help with his expenses. On graduation he went to New York, and was even busier than he had been in New Haven.

After some months of life in New York, a friend met him and said,”Henry, what are you doing?”

“I have three jobs,” replied Mr. Curran, “I am studying law, I am a newspaper reporter, and I am selling life insurance.”

“How do you manage to get it all in?” said the friend.

“Oh,” replied Mr Curran, “that’s easy enough. They’re only eight-hour jobs.”

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A bellhop passed through the hall of the St. Francis Hotel whistling loudly.

“Young man,” said Manager Woods sternly, “you should know that it is against the rules of this hotel for an employee to whistle while on duty.”

“I am not whistling, sir,” replied the boy, “I’m paging Mrs. Jones’s dog.”

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“Excuse me,” began the visitor, who was more or less visibly embarrassed; “but—my name is Tompkins! Er—did—er—my wife—er—leave an order here for cigars, to be delivered to my home on—er—Christmas Eve?”

“Tompkins?” said the cigar man. “Just one minute! D. B. Tompkins? Yes, sir. One hundred flor de Hobokianos! Price, $2.50! Ordered banded in red and gold and a card enclosed, with the felicitations of Mrs. D. B. Tompkins!”

“Exactly! Well, I’m D. B. Tompkins. Now, I’ll tell you what I’d like you to do. You take those red-and-gold-banded stinkarees my wife ordered and hand them to some fireworks man to be utilized as punk along about the Fourth of next July. Use the box thus provided for a hundred good, clear Havanas at about $9.50. I’ll pay the difference! Understand? And in the meantime—mum—‘M-U-M’—is the word! Do you get me?”

“I’m wise in a second!” replied the cigar man. “What you want me to do is to take the present incumbents of the box ordered by Mrs. Tompkins out on the hillside somewhere and bury them deep down in the yawning sod. In their places you want a practical smoking cigar of the kind that is usually sold without an accident policy! And you stand ready to pay the difference!”

“Precisely!”

Tompkins handed over a greenback and received his change.

The cigar man smiled appreciatively.

On Christmas Day Tompkins opened the box and abstracted therefrom a good, big, black Havana.

“You seem to enjoy that cigar,” suggested Mrs. Tompkins, as he blew rings of soft blue curling smoke at the chandelier.

“Enjoy them?” echoed Tompkins. “Why, they’re simply delicious!”

Mrs. Tompkins purred her delight at this wholly unexpected tribute.

“And yet,” said she musingly, “there are men who are mean enough to say that a woman doesn’t know anything about buying cigars!”

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Charming, aren’t they?

How sad it is that we now delight in jokes that are openly double-meaning and full of profanity , not to mention, the distinct lack of grammar and deplorable choice of words!!

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to hunt for the link where these came from. If you find them, do let me know





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Foto Friday

What do you get if you cross a chicken with a cement mixer?

A brick layer!

What do you get if you cross an elephant and a kangaroo?

Big holes all over Australia!

 What do you get if you cross an insect with the Easter rabbit?

Bugs Bunny.

What do you get when you cross a stream and a brook?

Wet feet.

What do you get if you cross a Cocker Spaniel with a Poodle and a rooster?

A cockapoodledoo!

What do you get if you cross a daffodil with a crocodile?

I don’t know but I wouldn’t try sniffing it!

What do you get when you cross a snake and a kangaroo?

A jump rope.

What would you get if you crossed a giraffe with a rooster?

An animal who wakes up people who live on the top floor.

What do you get if you cross a door with a floor mat?

A Doormatry. No, seriously   -

Didn't I tell you so?!!

Forgive me for the bad humour folks. I guess the weekend’s catching up with me

You all have fun.





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University Selection

Am not sure whether the following mail thread is real or not, but it surely is amusing

Got it in the mail today. Sharing it with you all :-

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Who wouldn’t want to be in MIT ,a place where you would find more Noble laureates  than drug addicts. So given below is an amusing exchange of letters between MIT and a prospective student. The letter was first sent out to the student, whom the college thought ,was supposedly MIT material, but the student mistook this letter as a parody and the reply left MIT red-faced.

The Letter

Mr. John T. Mongan
123 Main Street
Smalltown, California 94123-4567

Dear John:

You’ve got the grades. You’ve certainly got the PSAT scores. And now you’ve got a letter from MIT. Maybe you’re surprised. Most students would be.

But you’re not most students. And that’s exactly why I urge you to consider carefully one of the most selective universities in America.

The level of potential reflected in your performance is a powerful indicator that you might well be an excellent candidate for MIT. It certainly got my attention!

Engineering’s not for you? No problem. It may surprise you to learn we offer more than 40 major fields of study, from architecture to brain and cognitive sciences, from economics (perhaps the best program in the country) to writing.

What? Of course, you don’t want to be bored. Who does? Life here is tough and demanding, but it’s also fun. MIT students are imaginative and creative – inside and outside the classroom.

You’re interested in athletics? Great! MIT has more varsity teams – 39 – than almost any other university, and a tremendous intramural program so everybody can participate.

You think we’re too expensive? Don’t be too sure. We’ve got surprises for you there, too.

Why not send the enclosed Information Request to find out more about this unique institution? Why not do it right now?

Sincerely,
Michael C. Benhke
Director of Admissions

P.S. If you’d like a copy of a fun-filled, fact-filled brochure, “Insight,” just check the appropriate box on the form.

 

The reply
Michael C. Behnke
MIT Director of Admissions
Office of Admissions, Room 3-108
Cambridge MA 02139-4307

Dear Michael:

You’ve got the reputation. You’ve certainly got the pomposity. And now you’ve got a letter from John Mongan. Maybe you’re surprised. Most universities would be.

But you’re not most universities. And that’s exactly why I urge you to carefully consider one of the most selective students in America, so selective that he will choose only one of the thousands of accredited universities in the country.

The level of pomposity and lack of tact reflected in your letter is a powerful indicator that your august institution might well be a possibility for John Mongan’s future education. It certainly got my attention!

Don’t want Bio-Chem students? No problem. It may surprise you to learn that my interests cover over 400 fields of study, from semantics to limnology, from object-oriented programming (perhaps one of the youngest professionals in the country) to classical piano.

What? Of course you don’t want egotistical jerks. Who does? I am self-indulgent and over-confident, but I’m also amusing. John Mongan is funny and amusing – whether you’re laughing with him or at him.

You’re interested in athletes? Great! John Mongan has played more sports – 47 – than almost any other student, including oddball favorites such as Orienteering.

You think I can pay for your school? Don’t be too sure. I’ve got surprises for you there, too.
Why not send a guaranteed admission and full scholarship to increase your chance of being selected by John Mongan? Why not do it right now?

Sincerely,
John Mongan

P.S. If you’d like a copy of a fun-filled, fact-filled brochure, “John Mongan: What a Guy!” just ask.

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That’s some reply





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The Hormone Hostage …….

Things have been a wee bit morose on the MomOfRS blog lately…..so here’s some lighthearted reading for today  :)

After a long time, I found something funny in my inbox. Sharing it with you all -

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The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his  life in his own hands!
This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver’s licence in the wallet of every husband or boyfriend.

DANGEROUS: What’s for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate

DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Wow, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate

DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: Could we be overreacting?
SAFEST: Here’s my pay packet.
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate

DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRA SAFE: Have some chocolate

DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn’t over-do it today.
SAFEST: I’ve always loved you in that robe!
ULTRA SAFE: Have some more chocolate.

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Am taking a printout for the BF right now





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Knock Me Down!!And see me grinning :)

Knock, knock

Who’s there?

Adolf.

Adolf who?

Adolph ball hit me in de mowf. Dat’s why I dawk dis way

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I cracked this joke to Dad recently. He didn’t find it funny. What’s more, he refused to laugh at it because it gave him a funny pain in his jaw. Plus, he threatened to sue me if I caused any more grievous damage to him.

(Naah, he didn’t.)

(It was Mom.)

The reason?

A couple of weeks back, Dad was happily ambling along the golf-course fairway, craning his neck to check if  his well teed-off shot could fetch him another hole-in-one or not. He couldn’t see his ball, but what he did see, he could have never anticipated in his wildest of dreams!!

A misplaced shot by an amateur golfer sent a fast paced golf ball right at his face.

Dad turned in time to prevent his head, but his jaw fell victim to the brutal assault.

Painful, I agree.

We asked Dad if he sued that bugger, but then Dad being Dad AND a true-blue golfer, said that Gentlemen playing golf don’t do that. They walk up to the offender and offer sympathies for the wrongly aimed shot. They then proceed to lecture the amateur on the technicalities of that most important tee off and then offer to conduct free of cost coaching for the next 3 months, at the convenience of the offender.

Thats how Gentlemen play golf, I’m told.

Thank you, but no thanks.

If I find a dimpled thingy hurtling at me, I’d run for the nearest cover. And in case I get hit, then I know what to do with that 3-Wood in my golf-bag !!

Anyhow, in case you are wondering how dad is, well, he’s recovering. Luckily, no bones were cracked or teeth torn out of their roots (that comes from years of existing as an Army man, I guess. Can’t see the BF encountering the same fate and returning with his complete set of dentures . No, I don’t think that would happen. And what would, is too ugly to  contemplate)

I like sporting injuries. They are like trophies. You display them with a hint of pride and loads of lovely memories. They are reminders of the time when you were quick like a fox and nimble like the fish. The days when you didn’t have an ounce of extra fat on you, when the sun’s rays were just that – sunrays. They weren’t cancer causing ultraviolet radiations out to kill you! I have a sporting injury. A crooked right ankle, thanks to an obscenely obese 13-year old toppling herself on me in a do-or-die kabaddi match. For the record, I did and almost died (that bag of lard fell on me, geddit? She was squeezing the life juice out of me lungs!!) I survived to tell the tale. It’s another thing that for years afterwards, I couldn’t run without suffering the severest muscle-pull around the ankle. For years, I steadily piled on the weight until I started resembling that bag-of-lard myself. Except that I have better sense and refrain from Kabaddi. Of course.

Bro has his share of tennis elbow injuries. Bags suffered from her swimming cramps (they are deadly, I tell you!!) . The BF had his wrists knocked out in Volleyball. And Aapa, though a non-sporty person now, was quite a basketball champ in her hey-days (in Tambaram High School, West Tambaram, Tamil Nadu). Whatever the case, I think its vital that we clung on to the sports even though we were knocked out black n blue. The most Mom would do would be to hand over a jar of iodex or bandage a severely scraped knee. Thats it. We were back in the field.

Come to think of it, don’t we pamper our kids a tad too much?? I mean, I scream like a banshee when my kid topples off the bed and lands on the floor (like Lui did this morning), all arm-waving, chest beating picture of motherhood gone crazy. Somehow, I just can’t picture my mother in the same mold.

Good for her, I say. Ooops, correction. Good for me. Else I would have turned into a namby-pamby good-for-nothing still striving for my mother’s apron strings!

But I’m not.

(A namby-pamby, that is. I confess I still strive for mumma’s apron strings though  )

 But the point is, I’m kind of tough. Years of being in sports does that to you. Of course I don’t have a steel jaw like Dad or sinewy arms like Bro or  mile -wide shoulders like the BF (aaarghh!! that would’ve looked awful), but I’m tough. I can take a injury and still smile through it. I have a strong resistance to pain (except for that one time I got my eye-brows done and swore never to touch them again ) and am proud to say I’m one tough cookie.

So if a golf ball comes carting my way, I’ll survive. I may lose a couple of the pearlies, but I’ll back to post about it. Maybe , even add a knock-knock joke of my own.

Hopefully, Dad would find it funny then

 

 

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