If we were having coffee, I’d moan that the crack in our ceiling has gotten worse and I fear the house might collapse on us. Sad, because we’d probably die…still, how is your coffee?
If we were having coffee, I’d also complain about my latest cooking catastrophe. There was a spill inside the oven and things burned. It wasn’t pretty.
If we were having coffee, I’d share that we’ve also been able to see friends and family during the last few days and the laughs we shared were belly shaking things that I loved. Nothing like a romp down history lane to find some really funny anecdotes.
Finally, I’d send a huge thanks to Eclectic Alli for hosing Coffee Share and to you, my lovely reader, for reading!
Mark Twain was literary genius and wrote incredible books but, what I didn’t know, was he also had a great sense of humour. These quotes are all his. I chose them because they’re also surprisingly funny.
1. “Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company.” Love it. I love that one.
2. “It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.” Isn’t it hilarious? Ha! Still chuckling over that one.
3. “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I’ve done it thousands of times.” I don’t smoke but I find this one hilarious.
4. “A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.” Another hilarious and really good one.
5. “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”
6. “Familiarity breeds contempt – and children.”
7. “All generalizations are false, including this one.” Ha! It’s that twist he does at the end that makes his quotes so funny. They look like they’re going one way, then quickly turn.
And, my all-time favourite: “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”
Isn’t he great? Love those quotes!
My friend Sissy and her husband have triplet boys Michael, Colton and Tyler. To say Sissy’s life is busy is to minimize the Vortex of Chaos she lives in. When she asked me to watch the boys for an afternoon, I agreed. I figure she needs every break she can get.
I was a little apprehensive. Since I don’t have kids, I researched activities for them to do and worried Ocean might be rough on the kids.
I was so wrong.
Unbeknownst to me, little boys have the innate ability to find dangerous objects and/or activities. The more life-threatening, the faster they find them. It’s like a super-power for those who wishing a quick death. If someone had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. But I witnessed it first hand.
Within seconds of arriving, the triplets found every sharpened knife in the house–even those my husband had given up for lost years ago. When they found the electrical boxes. I brought out the playdough.
Incredibly, my playdough was covered with fungus (mental note: never buy playdough at the Dollar Store) and before I could even recognize the white fuzz on it, they were eating it. I stared in horror wondering where to find the number for poison-control, when one stuffed a piece into his ear.
Time to go outside.
The boys were delighted with the idea of a walk and so was I. Snow is fluffy and soft and boys can’t eat trees, so I figured we were all good. It took the three boys (aka: demons) less than three seconds to find the tiny river that cuts through our property and then they were all jumping in the icy water. When I tried to get them out, Ocean joined them.
Trying to avoid hypothermia, I rushed everyone back to the house and fed them hot chocolate and cookies.
Turns out that nothing can rival the energy level of three boys with sugar in their system. These new beings (I swear they were no longer human children), ran madly from room to room bumping into things, falling madly down stairs and sticking their fingers into every dangerous conceivable space. I won’t talk about the dents in the wall or the dirt or the tears in the sheets…better if I just say that, in spite of their best efforts, I managed to keep them alive until their mother arrived.
I have never been as glad to see anyone as I was at seeing Sissy. Never mind that Ocean was covered with playdough, that there were dents and dirt all over my white walls, that my white sheets would need careful soaking and heavy stain remover or that I might need several cups of tea and a very hot bath to feel human again, they had survived. No one had died.
Sissy was more positive than I. “You’ve done great!” she declared shoving boots and hats onto heads and feet.
Guilt made me be honest. “Ah…I think they might have eaten some bad playdough.”
Sissy laughed. “At home, they eat the dog’s food.”
So, my husband is British. And English is my third language.
Speaking three languages might sound really fancy or wonderful but there’s an issue. See, you learn languages by listening to others. You learn not to sound like a foreigner by listening really, really hard and imitating every accent and nuance in speech patterns. Since I’ve done that a couple of times for years in order to learn each new language, it has become a bit of a habit.
The fact is, I imitate everything I hear, from accents to speech impediments and, well, it’s embarrassing. I’ll be honest and admit I’ve gotten more than a couple of strange looks. I don’t mean to ridicule people but that’s exactly what it looks like. My grasp on my Canadian accent is a fluid, slippery one at best. I forget all the time how words are supposed to sound. They come out of my mouth and I can tell that they’re off but not how.
Worse, I imitate other people’s word choices. My lovely husband, being British, uses quite a few that are not…local. Some aren’t embarrassing like when he calls a shopping cart a trolley. For him, an apron is a pinney, a dumpster a skip…you get the idea. Not bad. Just funny.
The problems start when I ‘borrow’ his words. He uses them so much, I forget that they’re not Canadian. So, I’ve told someone to ‘nip down’ and go get someone and I’ve recommended someone ‘take a page from that person’s book’…
Yeah, they didn’t get it either. My accent didn’t help either. I don’t know what I sound after many years in Canada and three languages influencing my palate, but I certainly don’t sound British.
The worst is this one particular word…Apparently, in the UK, its a term of endearment. It means dear or sweetie. Not here. It means something completely different over here. It’s the word cock. British moms everywhere call their sons to them by saying: “Come here, cock”.
That’s not an easy one to explain at work.
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