Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Email To My Brother: Nothing Wrong With Thinking

 Your Wife (talking to you):

"Why are you only getting on the computer twice a day now?"

You (talking to your wife):

"I was thinking that would gives us more time to have sex."

Your Wife:

"Keep on thinking."

  

RaisingDad

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

  

Email To My Brother: A Holiday Tradition

 My brother's family has a holiday tradition.

     Every Christmas, they get together as a family and bake Christmas cookies to hand out to friends and family as gifts.

     He's cheap that way.

     Of course, I have to trash talk him about it.

You (talking to your wife):

"Sweetie, why don't we go upstairs and get frisky?"

Your Wife (talking to you):

"I've got a better idea, why don't we make Christmas cookies?"

You:

"Yay! Christmas cookies!"

  

RaisingDad

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene

  


Wednesday, December 9, 2020

Emails To My Brother: The Same Old Crap

It wasn't my idea.

     I was serving our father his gourmet enchiladas—now I get him the much more expensive Family Pack—and asked him, “What’s that?”

     “Oh,” he sighed, tired, “it’s just the same old crap your brother sends me every Christmas.”

     “Oh.”

     “Would you do me a big favor, son?”

     “Of course, pop.”

     “Would you take it with you when you leave?”

     “What do you want me to do with it?”

     “I don’t care,” he said. “Just get rid of it.”
  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Emails To My Brother: Is The Election Over Yet?

 Is the election over yet?

    No?

    But Fake News has already declared Joe Biden the winner. 

    “If only my husband’s erections lasted as long,” your wife posted on Facebook. 
  
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com
@JimDuchene
  

Sunday, December 6, 2020

Emails To My Brother: Two Thanksgiving Stories

I called our father on Thanksgiving to see how he was doing and to wish him a happy holiday.

     "Hi, pop," I said. 

     "Hi, son," he answered.

     "How was your turkey?"

     "The one I live with?" he answered. "He's fine." 

  *******************************************

I called our father on Thanksgiving to see how he was doing.

    “How’s your Thanksgiving been, pop?” I asked him.

    “Oh, good, good,” he said.

    “What are you thankful for?”

    “I’m thankful for you, of course, and I’m thankful for the enchiladas you never forget to bring me, they’re so delicious. I’m also thankful for the coronavirus.”

    “THE CORONAVIRUS!” I yelped. “Why are you thankful for the coronavirus?”

    “It keeps your brother away.”
  
RaisingDad
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
  

Party Parades? Phooey!

 as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine

desertexposure.com

 

One thing I've noticed about the Coronavirus is it's given people a reason to be cheap.

     Cheaper than they normally are.

     Cheaper than me, even.

     Actually, I’m not cheap. I’m frugal. When it comes to paying, I’m the first to put my hand in my pocket… and keep it there.

     I’m constantly invited to party parades. Well... not me, actually. People know if they want something good, my wife is the one to invite. These celebrations include baby showers, graduations, even dog adoptions.

     I invited my father to come along once. 

     “What’s that?” he asked.

     “You don’t know what a parade is, pop?” I teased.

     “Not the kind you’re talking about,” he answered.

     I explained to him, “That's where you drive to the person's house, drop off a gift without getting down, and then leave.”

     “No food?”

     “No food.”

     “I’ll pass.”

     Sometimes they'll hand out cupcakes. My father’s not big on cupcakes. He’s more a steak and potatoes kind of guy. Me, too, for that matter. Maybe there’ll be a candy bag in it for you, but just one. So there's no food, no drinks, no socializing. If you ask me, a party parade is a cheap way to get a free handout.

     At one of them, the mother of the little girl whose birthday they were celebrating wanted a headcount of who would be coming. My wife thought it was for them to be sure they had enough cupcakes and candy bags for everyone who was kind enough to take part, so my wife RSVPed with three: her, our daughter, and our granddaughter. When they drove by, the three of them were handed two cupcakes and a candy bag. I guess one of the cupcakes was meant to be split. Later, the mother Instagrammed pictures of the birthday girl opening her gifts and she thanked everyone who took part. "God will bless you," she wrote. 

     I told my wife, “‘God will bless you’ is a cheap person's way of passing the buck to the almighty."

     This is especially true of my buddy Maloney's mother-in-law, who’s so cheap she won’t even give you the time of day. After she borrows a few bucks, she always assures him, "God will pay you back."

     "She says that because SHE doesn’t plan to," I tell him.

     The very first party parade my granddaughter attended took place on the other side of town. My daughter dressed her in her prettiest party dress, gussied up her hair in curls and ribbons, and then drove with my wife a total of an hour and a half for the ten seconds it took to hand over a birthday present.

     “Aren’t we going to play?” my granddaughter wanted to know, not understanding why they weren’t stopping.

     I tagged along to one for the six-year-old granddaughter of some friends of ours. They wanted us to meet them in the parking lot of a steakhouse.

     “Think they’re feeding us?” I asked my wife.

     “Maybe,” my wife said.

     She was being hopeful, and there’s nothing wrong with hoping, but, as it turned out, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and a starting point is just a starting point. We could smell the beef grilling in the air.

     “Mmm… that smells good,” our granddaughter said as we drove off like a happy funeral procession, following our friends who were leading the parade.

     My wife and I just looked at each other.

     Trying to sneak a peek at the festivities ahead of us, our granddaughter graciously said of the birthday girl, “I bet she’s going to be dressed so pretty.”

     As we drove by the birthday house, I noticed our friends had parked, giving everybody room to drive by and away. I didn't tell my wife, because they're her friends more than they are mine, but I thought, "They're staying behind because, as soon as the rest of us suckers leave, they're going to go inside and eat."

     And that's just what these parades seem like to me. The people who take time out of their busy day, spend money on a nice gift, and leave with disappointed children... WE don't get invited to take part in the actual celebration.

     “You’re just being grumpy,” my wife told me when I finally aired my observation to her later, but, wouldn’t you know it, the very next day her friends posted pictures on their Facebook accounts. Pictures of them having a very good time at a birthday party no one in the parade was invited to.

     Just so you know, we're throwing a party parade for our granddaughter on her birthday. Consider yourselves invited. Knowing my wife, she’ll find a way to make it special for our guests. Especially the wee ones.

     Don’t get me wrong, I understand the necessity for parades rather than parties. This pandemic has been tough on kids. They can’t play with their friends. They can’t go to school, or, when they can, they have to sit in their seats the entire time, even eating their lunches there. No P.E., no recess, no games of tag.

     My granddaughter was visiting us the other day. She and I were outside playing when she saw some friends of hers from the neighborhood riding their bikes in front of our house. They invited her to join them.

     “I can’t!” she called back longingly. “I don’t have a mask!”

     Another little girl rode by. This one she didn’t know.

     “Hola!” my granddaughter called out in her best spanish, giving the girl a friendly wave.

     “Hola,” the girl said, but kept on going.

     My heart broke a little.

     Playing with your grandfather is a cheap substitute for playing with kids your own age.

  

**************************************************************

You know what else is cheap? Talk. Except when politicians do it.

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

@JimDuchene.