Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

A Fishy Toothbrush Update

I had this toothbrush a few days ago, that tasted a little fishy and since yesterday was shopping day, I bought myself another.

I'd been making do with mouthwash and floss, so was looking forward to a nice, fresh, new, clean, non-fishy toothbrush.

Something you don't know about me, is that I have this weird aversion to putting things in my mouth that don't belong. By "don't belong" I mean not meant for human consumption. Toothbrushes are included in that. I push through it and brush my own teeth, sure, but the sound of anyone else brushing their teeth actually makes me violently dry-retch.

Seeing anyone else put anything in their mouth that doesn't belong makes me violently dry-retch. I'm that sap who sees toddlers (including my own) mouthing things and calls for help while gagging and running away. I'd be no good in an emergency - it really is that bad!

I also can't put anything in my mouth that has been in another person's mouth. Yes, this includes having a bite of someone's sandwich. It has to be from the uneaten end. And it includes drinking out of a drink bottle someone else has used. If my toothbrush is wet when I pick it up, just the thought of what may have happened can make me gag.

With that in mind, you can likely understand why someone messing with my toothbrush is worse than you may have first thought.

So anyhow, yesterday I bought my new toothbrush. I considered buying two, nearly did, then decided I was being foolish. Toothbrush interference isn't a common occurrence in my house. Nor should it be.

I chose a colour I liked that was different to the other four in the house, and brought it home with the rest of my groceries. So far so good.

We had done the shopping late in the afternoon, so the grocery bags got dumped on the table with only the things that needed refrigeration being put away immediately. I started getting dinner ready with the knowledge the rest would be put away soon enough. And while I was cooking, I was distracted from what was happening over at the table.

Never trust a two-year-old, is all I can say.

Ten minutes later he wandered into the kitchen, looked at me all adorable-like and said: "Kiss my minty, Mum." Which, of course, is a direct translation of: "I just brushed my teeth; now I want a kiss." So I did (who wouldn't?). But I am, now, a more suspicious person. I knew he had been fossicking in the groceries earlier on.

"Which toothbrush did you use, sweetheart?" I asked nervously.

And he looked at me. And he giggled. And he giggled some more. And then he showed me...

So, today, I need a new toothbrush...

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Image by: digitalart

Sunday, 7 October 2012

Smells Minty... But Tastes A Little Fishy!

We're not opposed to a little practical joking in our house.

Innocent jokes, of course; ones that don't cause humiliation or harm or fear.

And the one who gets away with the majority of them hasn't yet turned three years old! It's hard to practical joke a two-year-old in return without feeling mean and more than a little over the top.

Yesterday, he got me good.

Every morning after breakfast, I take a couple of fish oil capsules (jus' makin' sure I get me my omegas; wouldn't want to run out of brain function). A couple of times, Mister-Almost-Three has asked for one too. I know what he's going to do: bite it, get a mouthful of cod liver oil, announce how putrid the stuff is (in his own special way) and spit it all into the rubbish. And so I allow it. Fun times.

And that's what happened yesterday morning.

Only, first he spat the capsule into his hand, and got oil all over it, before depositing the casing into the rubbish bin. He then enticed me to smell his oily hand, which was indeed as putrid as he made it out to be. I suggested it'd be a grand idea to wash his hands, and off he went to the bathroom, without hesitation.

That should have been my first clue.

What should have been my second clue, was that he came back five minutes later with still incredibly oily hands, that didn't appear to have seen any soap at all.
So I helped him - as you do.

The day meandered on uneventfully, eventually darkening into night and I thought no more about it, except to tell Mr. Me, in passing, why there might be some residual fishy odour wafting from our youngest offspring.

Eventually, everyone went to bed, and I, being the last one up as usual, shut up shop and mindlessly performed my bedtime routines.

Innocent, I was.

Toothpaste has a strong smell. Apparently it's smell is stronger than its taste, because I couldn't smell anything amiss as I lifted the paste-laden brush to my mouth.

Boy, did I taste it!

I garbled a foamy, fish flavoured oath, and heard giggling from my bedroom.

I peered in at two delighted faces. "He said he made it yucky," grinned Mr. Me.

And the little one said: "You just shh," his little fingers held up to his lips. "I'll fix it later."

Except now I'm scared more than ever!

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Image courtesy of RJSSIGNSCOM

Monday, 10 September 2012

10 Ways To Bug Your Neighbour

Assuming I'm your neighbour!

If messing with your neighbours is where your heart lies, let me give you some advice from neighbours I've had through the years...

In no particular order:

Bulk buy fireworks during the week they're on sale then spread the use of them out over the year.

I used to have a golden retriever who was about as far removed from a gun-dog as you could ever imagine. He would try to sleep under us during thunderstorms and on Guyfawkes night he needed sedation. Random fireworks did not a happy camper make.

Mow your lawn at sun-up to get back at another neighbour who partied all night.

I'm neighbours with both of you! Why must I be subjected to two forms of torture?

Park your car in front of your gate so that it blocks the footpath.

Especially if you live on a busy road. Mothers with strollers and toddlers, who act like greyhound puppies on uppers, love nothing more than to meander into the middle of the road to get past your vehicle! (Public service announcement - you're welcome)

If you live in an apartment above someone else, be sure to wait until they have swept their balcony before you do your own.

That way, your special brand of dust and dead leaves will be sure to make their work a waste of time. Extra points if they have put out a clothes airer full of damp clothing.

Play your favourite porn on a continuous loop with your window open.

Because no one else must be allowed to sleep with their windows open. Nosir.

When you leave for work at 6:00am, be sure to honk your horn to get your partner's attention because you forgot your phone. Honk as you drive away, in thanks for them bringing it out for you.

Let's face it, if you're up and about then everyone else probably is too, right?

Store up your garden rubbish and mix in your old plastic paddling pool. Wait until there's a good stiff breeze in the direction of your neighbour, and their washing is on the line. Light a bonfire, drink beer and sing loudly.

At this point it's fun to listen for loud cursing and then call your friend and laugh about it.

Watch as your dog takes himself for a walk, slowing down traffic and defacing people's gardens. Don't call him back unless a car honks its horn.

Extra points if you growl at the dog as if it was his fault and not yours.

Play basketball in your driveway until 10:00pm.

Better if you start playing at 8:30pm so they just have time to get the kids to sleep and relax on the deck with a glass of wine. Nothing is more relaxing than the echoing toing! toing! toing! of the ball bouncing, interspersed with the clatterclatterclatter of the backboard whacking against the garage.

For best effect do this every night.

If your car is on its last legs anyway, don't bother repairing it. Just let the screaming of the fanbelt be an audible expression of the last nail in the coffin. Use this car often.

Oh wait, that was me... No one ever complained about that. Not to my face, anyway!

What have your neighbours done that drove you bananas?
Got any good stories?

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Photo courtesy of imagerymajestic

Wednesday, 5 September 2012

The Gym is Stalking Me!

I joined in July. It was AWESOME! Especially the buying new workout clothes part. I fully recommend that. You get to feel virtuous while procrastinating and spending money all at the same time. It's inspired, especially when you don't think too hard about what happens next.

I went religiously for a week - every day for cardio in the morning and twice in the evening for Zumba classes. It kicked my arse. I kicked it back, oh yes I did!

This is the new me, I decided. The fitness-building, weight-losing gym bunny. I still felt virtuous and was still spending money (unfortunately, membership isn't free). The best two out of three - even though if I could find someone to pay me for it, I'd be a professional procrastinator.

It's often said that school-age children have the attention span "years of age = minutes of attention" before you have to direct them back to the path they were travelling down.

Apparently, my attention span is a week.

Oh, I wombled along the side of the path for a while, going in once or twice a week. There was even that one session with a personal trainer that left me crippled for three days, which might have centered me on the path, but I was still walking wonky and fell off before long.

It's been two weeks since I've stepped foot in the gym. The procrastinating and spending money is there... not so much with the virtuous.

Now I see the gym everywhere! The swipe-in tag on my keys taunts me daily. I've filled in a form with a borrowed pen with their brand on it. Someone's dropped appointment card littered the supermarket carpark (which happens to be across the road from the place itself, but that hardly counts). The kids turned TV on after school today and the show they watched just happened to shoot a story in the skate park my gym overlooks. The mirrored glass windows practically screamed at me you should be watching this from a treadmill, not a sofa!

I almost listened, too. Almost. I mean, I had to cook dinner, right? I'd go right after dinner... and after I'd procrastinated a bit more. Maybe. After I take this call, from a number I don't know, on my cell phone...

Okay! I freakin' get it, Universe!

I now have an appointment with a personal trainer tomorrow evening and my gym's number is no longer "unknown" on my cell phone. And I promise now to again be that fitness-building, weight-losing gym bunny and feel virtuous.

But can someone please remind me in a week?

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