I have fond memories of reading the funnies section of the newspaper every day as a teenager. Those were the days of The Far Side and Calvin and Hobbes. Man, I miss those guys.
This post won't be nearly so entertaining as the kid who can't open the door to the School for Gifted Children or a spunky boy making a community of snow people, but there have been a few random funny things around this house that deserve recording.
Drum roll, please.
After we completed The Great Room Swap, a certain boy who now lives on the main floor absconded with my toothpaste. I walked into the hall bathroom every day for a week to paste up my toothbrush because I was too lazy to rifle through a cabinet to find a new tube for myself. The trouble is, Tyler never puts the cap back on the toothpaste, so the dispensing end is all goopy and crusty, and he also squeezes from the middle, which I just can't tolerate. Finally I retrieved my own tube, and staked claim on it once and for all.
This is my best parenting strategy: give children (even guests, who should surely receive better treatment) a bowl of crackers and a TV show and leave the room.
Two conversations between Gavin and his father:
G: What was that sound you just made?
D: Oh, the coolest sound ever. 'Cause I'm the coolest guy ever.
G: No! You're not cooler than Grandpa!
D: [Laughs] Actually, you're right. I'm not cooler than Grandpa.
G: But you ARE taller!
D: See this awesome picture of Uncle Eric hunting? [Dad holds his phone, which is displaying the picture, about a quarter of an inch from Gavin's nose.] What did you think of that?
G: It was blurry.
On what planet is it a good marketing strategy to introduce the new swimsuit line when the outdoor temperature is 15 degrees and the store is too cold for customers to remove their coats? Come on, Target.
Early this morning I dreamed I was a serial killer. The first person I killed was Abraham Lincoln, by suffocation, while he was sleeping in his bed. Then I killed a homeless man, who, inexplicably, had a home and a bed exactly like the late president. My third victim was a teenage boy named Tom (names have been changed to protect the innocent, whom I happen to know in real life). I was his hospice nurse and apparently decided that caring for him was too much work. As I began to suffocate him, he leaped out of bed, screamed at me for trying to kill him, jumped in his truck, and drove across the country. My initial reaction was embarrassment that I had done something so crazy, but then I went on with my regular life. Later, however, Tom, now a brazen and rugged man, returned from his road trip and declared to the world that I was a murderer. Tom's father, whom I also know in real life, grilled him with questions, as he was unable to believe that a wholesome person like me was capable of such a crime. Tom vehemently affirmed that I was his would-be killer. Then his father began questioning me, and just as I was going to confess to the whole business I woke up. I was happy to see my life of crime end so abruptly.
Last week Gavin was cold after breakfast. When he came upstairs, dressed and ready for school, he was wearing four shirts, two pairs of pants, shorts, and snow boots. Could he be wearing anymore clothes? [Name that TV show.] He gives new meaning to "layering." Lexi's gold shoes and hot pink socks are just an amusing side note.
Last night I went to Panera with a bunch of friends for a book discussion. Just as I walked into the restaurant, I noticed my primary care physician sitting at a table with his family. It was so bizarre to see him in trendy clothes and laughing. I felt super awkward; he's the doctor who referred me to see a psychiatrist, and the last time I saw him we were...uh...too up-close and personal for my taste.
This, perhaps, is the funniest thing of all. I was making copies for Young Women in our empty church this week and my kids had to use the bathroom. They ran down the hall and disappeared into the men's room. Pretty soon I heard screaming, and Lexi ran out to tell me that one of the toilets was overflowing. I smiled at my good fortune and went to investigate. I discovered that the toilet, while full to the brim with nastiness, had not actually spilled sewage. And this note was on the stall's door.
It reminds me of that telephone message: "We're sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please try again."
That would actually make a really funny comic strip.