IntrinsicTina

My poor, put-upon husband (he thought), when pressed into service, for household chores, dumping cat sand, and trash to his many cans system (his method to avoid exorbitant garbage curb service). He would go into a dirge and sing: I'm the Cat Poop Man, I'm the Cat Poop Man, that's all I am, The Cat Poop Man.  Then, as he slunk out the back door, he conversationally tossed out, "...And I don't even like that cat."  Neither the cat, nor I, believed him.

One of my nurses wishes I were more like Mrs. Potato Head, so she can gain better access to my mouth, when using the cough-assist machine....I wish I thought of that when my nose fauceted and all my caregivers were busy.

Grandma had the power. She could make boo-boos feel better and mend a shattered, little girl's self-esteem.

Grandfather drove bus in Hollywood during the golden age, "You go Vilshure, you go Wine?", the little Jewish men would ask of him. He was a very attractive, well-pressed man about town, intent upon rising above his humble, poor, dustbowl beginnings.