Shit Happens

One of Handy’s business colleagues gave him a bag of exotic coffee from her recent trip to Vietnam.  It’s called Con Soc and has a picture of a squirrel eating beans on the bag.  According to Handy, who looked into what makes this coffee so unique, the coffee beans are hand-picked and sorted by specially trained Vietnamese workers.  Then the best beans are fed to squirrels.  After the beans go through the squirrel’s digestive system, they are again sorted by the workers, and the best ones are ground into this coffee, which is supposed to be, like, the best in the world.  So while he’s telling me all this, I can hardly keep from gagging while he’s slurping squirrel poop.

You would have to know how many times he’s gotten on my case about washing fresh fruits and vegetables because “the last person to touch that lettuce probably picked his nose first” to understand why I’m delighted to have squirrel shit to fall back on.

The Fancy Perspective

It seems like my first grandchild (aka “Fancy”) was born about five minutes ago, but, in fact, she turned 18 this year.  Unbelievable!  One day not too long ago, we were talking about armpit hair.  OK, that seems like a strange topic of discussion, but Fancy has opinions on everything.  Remember, she’s 18!  Anyway, she noticed that my pits needed a shave, and I said I’d try to do a better job of it, but that it’s harder to do as you get older.  She said, oh, that’s probably because when you get old, you’ve got a lot of hanging skin to deal with.  I said, well, smartass, that’s true, but it’s mostly because you can’t actually see what you’re doing.  In my case, I can’t even turn my head far enough to look, never mind see if there’s any hair under there!  And Fancy, in her sarcastic 18 year old way, said, “Well, I guess that’s just one more thing I have to look forward to.”  

Actually, I’ve taught her a lot of stuff about what to expect as she gets older.  I hope she’s been taking notes.  When she was about 10  or 11, we were spending a lazy, hot, Mississippi summer day floating in the pool, when she said, “Let’s talk about puberty.”  OK, I said, and I gave her the whole talk about how the body changes and what menstruation is all about, even though I was pretty sure she had heard it all before from her mother, my daughter, who probably understood the whole process by the time she was five.  I asked Fancy if she had any questions.  She said, “No, I got it.  But I’m not going through all that mess.  I just want to pop out some boobs and get on with my life.”  If only!

These memories came to me this morning in the shower when I realized that I had been “shaving” with the plastic thingy still on the razor!  I guess it's time for me to start taking notes on the things I learn from Fancy!