CLUELESS

Back in the 80's, there was a popular catch phrase that was used when a stated point soared over the head of some unknowing individual.

"Get a clue."

Yeah, well we're nothing if not retro-80's around here, so let me give you a little glimpse of Lifestyles of the Rich and Clueless (uh hem, that rich part might be just a tad unrealistic, though we are rich in blessings and that's all that matters to me.)

My mom recently sent Reece's birthday package through the mail from Ohio. I opened the main box, as it had been securely sealed with packing tape. Examining the contents, I remarked to Carl, "Goodness! Instead of just using some crumpled newspapers, Mom threw an entire unrolled roll of toilet paper in here. She should have least unrolled it."

I began handing out the contents to Reece when I encountered another perplexing find.
A bag of carrots (you're scratchin' your head too, uh huh.)
A ziplocked bag of baby carrots to be exact.
Mailed from another state in a little boy's birthday package.
Suddenly aware that I was holding a tense expression as I pondered this strange item, I unwrinkled my brow (to the extent that a 40-something woman can) and mused, "Would she really send him a bag of carrots for his birthday?" I mean, I just wasn't sure.

Carl, who was busy unloading the dishwasher, listened intently as I presented the perplexing items to him for consideration.
"Honey, I think my mom's lost it. I mean, I kinda got that the toilet paper was to double as packing paper, even if she didn't unroll it. But, uh,...a ziplock bag of carrots? What the heck? I think she was having a snack and just threw them in like when I set your morning coffee up and forgot to put the grinds in."

He looked up at me with that all too familiar look. The concerned one that says, "There she goes again," as he formed his response.
"You...don't have a clue, do you?"
"Me? What...she's the one who packed the carrots."

And sadly, it's true. Hubs was right. I didn't have a clue and the joke went right over my head. See, my dad and I, we have these little compulsions. For Dad, it's carrots. Go to my parents house on any given day and you can munch your way through all the vitamin A your eyes, skin and hair can handle. Because in their refrigerator, Carrot is King. Dad buys them by the 2 pound bag, several at a time. I keep waiting for Dad to have that carotene "tan" like Jay the Juiceman, but so far he's still the same shade of Dad I've always loved.
And, oh yes, he does love his carrots.
No, they don't need multiple 2 pound bags.
Yes, the rabbits in his neighborhood must be very happy.

As for me...
If you're a guest in our home, don't you eeeever worry about the empty toilet paper holder scenario. It doesn't exist here. People, honestly, this is so not an issue in our home. See, when my parents visited us recently, dh thought my mom needed to take a little tour of the storage ares of our home. No, this is NOT the usual tour you give to guests who come to visit. But when you get a kick out of your wife's wall-o-paper, you naturally want to share your joy.
And so he did.
He showed my mom our stockpile of 10 or more 4-packs of t.p. in the bedroom.
And our 6 or more 4-packs in the kids' bathroom.
And our additional 4 or more 4-packs in the pantry.
And this didn't include the 4-packs that can be found under the bathroom sinks.

What am I afraid of?

Oh, I don't know. Trauma of Girl scout latrine duty back in the 4th grade, I suppose. A million chores to divide and I, moi, got latrine duty. You know that guy who does the DIRTY JOBS show on the Discovery channel? Hellooo, that was me back in the 4th grade at girl scout camp. Add to that the time that Kathy Mc C. had an "attack" while we were in the woods without toilet paper (also around 4th grade as I recall) and, well,...those rolls bring me great comfort. And hey, you'll be happy to know there's no need to reach for "alternative toiletries" in this house.

So, Mom earns big points for her hilarious family insider joke on me.
Way to go, Mom (though I will find a way to get you back.)

I have to say, she definitely deserved to get me because I have been relentless in my jokes on her. We've been in a store together and I have found the most hideous looking "Sunday best" floppy straw hat with gaudy plastic flowers and tacky lace on it, placed it on her head and, with several strangers in complete earshot said something like, "Oh, Mom! This will make a beautiful edition to your hat collection. It's very similar to the royal purple one you wore to Mary's wedding last week, only with a bigger brim and no black feathers." And she wants to burst out laughing (or hit me) and all she can do is smile politely (though, if you look carefully, you'll catch a glimpse of her top lip curled in a slight growl.)

And once, while at a craft show, we passed the ugliest clay figurines we had ever seen (they were knobby, lopsided, and the paint appeared runny and childlike.)
"Mom. Oh, Mom! This darling little cat will look perfect on your mantle with the rest of your clay cat collection. Just look at those sweet eyes." And naturally, the eyes were as cock-eyed as could be, and Mom would have to keep a straight face as she tried to fake agreement.

So you see, clueless I was to her carrot and T.P. antics and, rightfully so (though I hate to admit it), she got me good this time.

Toni