They’re Too Cute

Cass had been the only girl in our class for a long time. About the same time I joined the classroom so did a young lady named Marisol. Cass and Marisol made instant friends. They walk to recess and to lunch together hand-in-hand. Today Cass and Marisol were walking together and talking away. Harold and Jay decided to copy them.

Somehow all four children got tangled up at the corner. Forty-five degree turns can be tricky in tandem. Cass and Jay bumped heads. Both of them — at the same time — reached out and patted the other on the head. Cass said, “I sowwy.” Jay said, “Sorry, too.” He added, “You okay?”

Cass said, “I okay. You okay?”

Jay said, “I okay.”

Cass and Jay continued around the corner to the play ground. Marisol looked over at Harold and asked, “Jou otay?”

Harold frowned at her, looked down at his feet, then frowned at her some more. He put his hand on his chest and said, “No! I Harowd!”

Itsy Bitsy Spider

An itsy-bitsy spider which very much resembled a four year-old’s hand crawled across the lunch table and tickled me. A very large spider which very much resembled my hand crawled back toward the four year-old. The itsy-bitsy spider turned into an itsy-bitsy ninja warrior and flattened the very large spider. The very large spider died a dramatic death and fell off the lunch table.

An itsy-bitsy spider which very much resembled a four year-old’s hand crawled across the lunch table and tickled me. Deciding to employ a little psychology, I reached out to pet it. I told it that it was a very sweet, gentle and loving spider. The itsy-bitsy spider hopped onto the four year old’s hip. “No, Ms. Chawwene,” the four year-old admonished. “You no pet spidahs!” The itsy-bitsy spider once again crawled across the table toward me. It paused. “Now pway wight!” the four year-old scolded.

Fishy Revelations

Let me start by telling you that when emails were flying back and forth and we were getting to know each other, OC told me he would eat anything.  Then we end up in the same home — sharing the same kitchen, table and meals — and I discover that he doesn’t care for, or hasn’t even tasted, many of my favorite foods.  I queried his, “I will eat anything,” assurance and discovered that while I was thinking in terms of preference, he was being quite literal.

Canned tuna was on OC’s list of things he’d eat if he had to, but would rather not, thank you.  I don’t know about you, but tuna was a staple in our house when I was a kid.  Tuna salad.  Tuna casserole.  Tuna sandwiches.  Tuna gravy on toast.  Canned tuna is good stuff.  Not only that, I was thinking of fixing tuna sandwiches for lunch when OC expalined that while he would eat whatever was put before him, he would just as soon what was put before him not be canned tuna.

Okay.  Note to self, be more careful about how you phrase questions in the future.

So for the last couple of months I have had tuna a time or three when OC wasn’t joining me for my meal, but the time finally came — the Thursday evening before our weekend trip to the grocery store — when I had nothing else to prepare for his work lunch.  I  emptied a can and made my favorite sandwich spread.  I decided that if OC hated it he could buy lunch on campus and I would have enough tuna for my next couple of lunches.

So that night just before dinner — before dinner so that if he hated it he’d have something to eat to clean the taste from his mouth — I offered him a bit of my  tuna spread.  He stared at it suspiciously and asked what was in it.  I told him.  He frowned, but agreed to taste it — and his eyes lit up like Christmas. Still he nonchalantly said, “It’s okay I guess.”

Pft.  It’s more then okay. He likes it.  When pressed he reluctantly admitted as much.

Until I talked to OC, I thought everyone ate tuna my way … tuna, chopped onions, dill pickle relish, a dash of pepper and mayo to taste (or Miracle Whip for those of you who need sugar in everything).   Now I find that’s not so . . .  So, what’s in your tuna spread?

Through My Window III

My elderly neighbor had her great granddaughters over today. They kept playing Britney Spears’, Oops! I Did It Again. About the second dozen times I listened to it, I wondered if the grownups in the house had gone deaf, and almost immediately I heard the little old lady query, “Honey, doesn’t that record have other songs on it?”

A girl’s voice responded, “It’s a CD, Granny.”

“Whatever,” the woman said irritably. “Does it have other songs?”

Girl: “Of course.”

Granny: “Well, then why don’t you play them?”

Murmurs of dismay came from several girls, while one voice clearly responded, “Because this is the one we like.”

Granny: “Oh joy.”