It’s been awhile, I know…

Suzido you remember this joke? Nobody here gets it. I can’t even remember where it comes from, but it still cracks me up. Maybe it was a Saturday Night Live sketch, or something. If anyone knows, please tell me! And, by the way, I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU!!!! : )

Although this particular rant didn’t actually occur, I do on occasion sound exactly like this. I felt the need to get it all out. Graeme’s away again and they’re startin’ to DRIVE ME MAD again. I’ve also noticed somethin kinda funny. It used to be (back when I had a social life) that a couple of drinks would bring out my inherent Southern accent. Now it’s how worn down I am by my children. So I’ve tried to indicate this within the text. I’m sure those of you who are Southern, or have had the fortune to hear a good Southern rant, will have no difficulty in imagining this situation. Those of you who are totally oblivious, well. I suppose I could try and record it at some point. That’d be funny.

Oh. No. You. Didn’t!. I know you didn’t just look at ME like THAT. And you can STOP rollin’ your eyes around that head of yours, too. I don’t think you know who you’re talkin’ to, lil missy. I’m your MAMA, got it? Notcha’ friend, ya MAMA! And if you can’t show me the respect I deserve, then I’ll FIND a way for you to act right. Talkin’ to ME like that with those googly eyes rollin’ ’round all silly in ya head. I. DON’T. THINK. SO! And why do I have to repeat m’self THREE times before you HEAR me? What’s up with that? I’ll take you to the doctor, child, if ya’ gotta problem. If you’re deaf, I’ll fit the hearin’ aid myself! Now. Get that boney little rear end of yours UP those stairs and IN to bed before I change my mind. You’re lucky I didn’t smack you into next week!

This, on the other hand, really did happen while I was trying to type this. Graeme phoned and before hanging up he spoke with the kids.

Me: Here, speak to your Daddy…

(Jackson, in exorcist voice): HALLO DADDAY!

G: What?



(Back to a human voice): Press 8, Daddy! (looking at the phone, contemplating which number to push…)

Me: No, don’t press anything, craziness. (I take the phone from Jack before he accidentally hangs up and hand it to Elizabeth)

Me: Here, Betty, talk to Daddy.

B: I hurt mythelf, Daddy.

G: Aww, Betty. How’d you do that?

B: Ba’Boy hit me! (As she shows him by hitting herself on the head. We call Jackson ‘Jackie-boy. She can’t say that and it comes out Ba’boy. Some people think she’s saying ‘Bad Boy’, which often isn’t a far cry from the truth.)

All the while, in my left ear, Jackson streams a constant barrage of: When’s it lunchtime, Mommy? Is it lunchtime, yet? Can we have lunch? Just a little lunch? I’m hungry. Can I have a piece of toast with butter and eat it in the playroom? Is it lunchtime yet, Mommy?

Me: Good Gosh, Son! It’s only 9:30 in the mornin’ and you’ve only just had ya breakfast! You’re gonna have to wait 30 minutes till your snack. That’s about the time it takes to watch Spongebob. Now get off my boobs!!!!

(He’s developed a bit of a boob fetish. OK, boob and tummy. It’s no wonder, really. They’re both very soft and plush. Better than a cuddly toy!!!)

In any case, we’re off to the States soon so I won’t be writing for awhile. I’ll leave you with a copy of a letter that I received from Hazel. It’s the wittiest thing I’ve read in a long while.

A 98 year old woman in the UK wrote this to her bank. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the Times.

Dear Sir,
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my cheque with which I endeavoured to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the cheque and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honour it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my Pension, an arrangement, which, I admit, has been in place for only thirty eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account £30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank.

My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways. I noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become. From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person.
My mortgage and loan payments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank by cheque, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an offence under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Solicitor, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof.
In due course, I will issue your employee with PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modelled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Let me level the playing field even further. When you call me, press buttons as follows:
1. To make an appointment to see me.
2. To query a missing payment.
3. To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4. To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7. To leave a message on my computer (a password to access my computer is required. A password will be communicated to you at a later date to the Authorized Contact.)
8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through to 8.
9. To make a general complaint or inquiry, the contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call. Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement.
May I wish you a happy, if ever so slightly less prosperous, New Year.
Your Humble Client

Isn’t that awesome?


~ by imadethis on April 24, 2008.

2 Responses to “It’s been awhile, I know…”

  1. Hi, I’ve just read your ‘southern rant’ and it’s reminded me of my lovely friend in the States.I’ve just come back from a 2 yr stay in Georgia and I can hear my friend telling her teenage daughter what for as I read.
    Are you homesick?I think you live in UK currently.

    I have to say also(and this coming from someone to whom manners are second only to breathing)I had never experienced such consistently lovely manners till we came’ over the pond’.
    Best wishes


    Hey Girl! (May as well start as I mean to go on : )

    I was raised to say yes/no Ma’am and Sir, to respect my elders (no matter how weird or silly they seemed) and to do as I was told. The idea of getting in trouble with my teacher was abhorrent, my principal-unthinkable and if my parents were ever found out I may as well start packin’ my bags. I ate with my mouth closed and put in only enough to fit (not as much as could possibly fit on my fork, as my children often do.) Sundays were church days in our Sunday best. Boys were out of the question until our late teenage years. Before that they were only to giggle at and drool over. And even when I was allowed to go on a date, they had to meet the folks first. None of this tootin’ your horn at the curb stuff.

    I miss Southern manners. I miss all the charm of the South. But having just spent a month in my home state, I can safely say it’s still alive and kickin’. Of course, in the larger cities, where the Northerners have moved in, the tone has changed, as in Charleston, SC. People are still nice, but the hometown feel has gone.

    Having said all that, I really do consider England home now. And I’ve realised I’m fightin’ a losing battle in regards to yes Ma’am, no Ma’am. The only time I ever her that is when they’re in REAL trouble and are trying to smooth talk me. And, because the culture is so different, I feel free to be the kind of Mom I really WANT to be. I don’t feel obligated to follow any set agenda. So, I suppose in that respect I’m glad I’m not so restricted by tradition. We create our own!

    And boy, are my kids free!

  2. Oh, meant to say, you daughter(?)has great coloured hair.I’d have mine just like that

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