Tag Archives: Funerals

Customer Service

Today, my son Jacob is taking his very first airplane trip alone.  So of course I woke up wondering if John and I had told him everything he needed to know before hand.

It was a very early morning flight, so he’d arranged to stay with a friend near the airport and take a cab from there.  When I woke up, I immediately checked up on him.  Err, in on him.

He was at the airport in plenty of time, and had even found his gate.  But I could feel his eyes rolling from across the miles when I suggested he sit at the gate and not move until they called his flight.

Because once I made the mistake of not doing that …


It was March 31, 1997, and my mother had died the day before. John, Jacob and I picked up my sister Beth who lived not far away, and they dropped the two of us off at National Airport, to take our flight south to Florida to help Dad with the funeral arrangements.  To be there with him.  John and Jacob would follow in a few days.

“The Terminal is under construction, so leave yourselves extra time to get to the gate,” John warned us as he said good-bye.

Yes, National Airport’s Terminal A was a complete mess.  There were barricades everywhere, dust, dirt, grime.  The air was thick with it.

We found the US Airways desk conveniently located just outside of an Au Bon Pain.

Google Image

Google Image

We got some drinks and sat down at a table.  I took a seat facing the US Airways desk, with the information about our flight scrolling across the top.

Like every shy person I’ve ever known when they’re with someone they know, Beth began talking and kept on.  She talked about Mom, about being a kid, told stories that I had heard, and ones I hadn’t.  It was really wonderful, just sitting there.  Neither of us wanted to be going to Florida.   Neither of course, wanted to be motherless, either.

I kept looking at my watch, and at the information desk, which kept displaying information about our flight.  I was just about to go and check, when the display began giving information about another flight.

“Grab your stuff, Beth,” I said over my shoulder as I headed to the desk to find out what was going on.  We hadn’t heard any announcement.  Fortunately, Beth was right behind me.

“Ma’m,” I said to one of the two women at the desk, holding out my boarding pass. “What happened to Flight 183 to Ft. Myers?”

“That flight just pulled away from the terminal.”

NO!!!!!! BRING IT BACK!!!” I shouted, with a voice full of all the pain of my loss, “IT’S FOR MY MOTHER’S FUNERAL!!!!”

I began to sob.  Loudly.  In the empty airport terminal, my sobs echoed off the ceiling.

“Lease,” Beth said, starting to console me, “It’ll be OK.”

I got what we call the “sup-sups” — where you can’t stop crying, and you can’t quite breathe either.  I couldn’t stop.

The clerks looked at one another.  One grabbed the phone, the other grabbed my arm and pulled me.

“The gate is down here,” and she ran with me, my sister right behind us.

The gate was, in fact, a long fucking way away.  Miles, it seemed.  WTF?

We got there just as they had clicked the landing tunnel back into place.  They opened the door and we ran down it to the plane.

US Airways had brought the plane back so I could get to my mother’s funeral.



As Beth and I moved down the aisle, I was still trying to catch my breath, still trying to stop crying.

Heads were turning, as the other passengers were trying to figure out just who we were, and why we were important enough to bring the plane back for.  (And now doubt that if we were so damn important, why were we in coach.”

But another problem emerged.  Someone was in my seat.

There were dozens of seats on the plane.  But in my rather frantic state, I wanted my seat.

“There are lots of seats, Lease,” said Beth.  “Here, we can sit here.  Or here.”

But I made the person move.

Beth sat next to me as I shook and wept the whole trip.  “We nearly missed Mom’s funeral,” I said, again and again.

“It’s OK, Lease,” she’d say, shaking her head.  “We made it.”


I never got the names of the two US Airways desk clerks who helped us.  I did write an incredibly nice letter to the company, though, giving times and flight numbers in the hopes that they learned how much their kindness meant to me.

I’ve always been amazed that a big company, which no doubt faces things like this every day, would demonstrate such kindness.

But Beth said they just wanted to shut me up.  And you know, she may have been right.


Filed under Adult Traumas, Bat-shit crazy, Crazy family members, Family, Friends, Good Deed Doers, Huh?, Humiliation, Humor, Love, Missing Folks, Mom, Mom would die of embarrassment, Most Embarassing Moments Evah!, Oh shit, Sisters, Taking Care of Each Other, Travel Stories, US Airways, Why the hell do I tell you these stories?, Wild Beasts, WTF?

Hey Doc? Do I Need This?

Perhaps I mentioned it a time or two, but I am something of an impulse buyer.  I succumb to all those “buy one, get one free” offers.  The “50% OFF!s,”  and, naturally, every sale.

Huffington Post Picture

Huffington Post Picture.  I just don’t get enough opportunities to use it.


The other day, I had to make an appointment for a medical test at a large DC hospital center.  Because I am a patient extraordinaire, I have all my tune ups and oil changes done at a major medical center.  The hospital version of Jiffy Lube.  I like feeling like my surgeons are on the cutting edge, and that my gastroenterologists are qualified to show others just what to put into my orifices.  I do not like amateurs poking about where I can’t see them.

But now?  Modern healthcare is just getting better and better!

Because there are all kinds of deals available.  I can shop for services at my local hospital!  How can you beat that?  You see, the MBAs have taken over healthcare.  So it’s just another consumer good.  Right?

In fact, I learned that I can purchase all kinds of pancreatic treatments!  Really!  Right there at Georgetown!  I can even, if I want, sign up for a pancreatic transplant!

But WAIT!  There’s MORE!

I can get deep brain stimulation!  I’m told while waiting on hold to make my doctor’s appointment, that it can treat (not cure) not just my GI problems, but illnesses, syndromes and conditions I don’t have!  Imagine that!

Yup!  I can treat not just my depression or bipolar symptoms, but my Parkinson’s Disease symptoms, too.  I’m not sure if I have to wait for those to develop first, or if I can just plunge right in and treat em.

Of course, I’m hoping that once my brain has been deeply stimulated,  I will come to understand why the MBAs think that someone with poo problems (and who spends way too much time with doctors and getting other treatments for the condition she is waiting on hold about) might enjoy some additional time in the hospital.  Because we all know just what a hoot those procedures can be.  Not to mention the designer gowns you get to wear.  Ammirite? 

Perhaps I can organize a girls’ retreat with my besties!  Hey girls, this gastric bypass is on me!

I’ve learned that I can have bloodless surgery at Georgetown, too.  I’d hate to make a mess.

The kidney tumors I also don’t have?  You guessed it.  They can be gone in no time.  Still gone.  Or maybe “Gone again” is the accurate description.  How about “Gone with the Wind?” Or is that mixing up body systems?

As soon as the lines open on Monday, I’ll be calling again.

These deals won’t last forever!




Filed under Adult Traumas, All The News You Need, Bat-shit crazy, Cancer, Conspicuous consumption, Criminal Activity, Crohn's Disease, Disgustology, Extra Cash, Family, Health, Health and Medicine, Hey Doc?

All We Are Saying, Is Give Peace A Chance


Have ya heard the latest?

A group of 47 Republican Senators are trying to thwart international negotiations with Iran!  What fun!  You know, the ones where we are trying to prevent them from developing and holding on to nuclear weapons?

In “An Open Letter to the Leaders of the Islamic Republic of Iran” this gang of traitors announced:

“It has come to our attention while observing your nuclear negotiations with our government that you may not fully understand our constitutional system … Anything not approved by Congress is a mere executive agreement,” the senators wrote. “The next president could revoke such an executive agreement with the stroke of a pen and future Congresses could modify the terms of the agreement at any time.”

Among the signers of this letter were three GOP Senators who are running or are expected to run for president in 2016:  Rand Paul, Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio.  And naturally, former GOP Presidential nominee John McCain signed it as did his shadow, Lindsay Graham.

Because, as you know, we can’t have peace.  And we can’t have anything positive come out of the evil Obama Administration, now can we.

But more importantly to voters of this country, this group of Senators has no real idea of how either international agreements work.  They don’t they quite have the details of the Constitution down, either.  It’s kind of like when you sneak the keys to the car from your parents and take the car out on the road before you know what you’re doing.

It was a good thing that somebody else understood how American international agreements work, though.  And what powers the Executive Branch of the U.S. Guv’ment has under the Constitution.  And what ones are given to the Legislative Branch.  Yup.  It’s a damn good thing.  Here is the schooling these boys received from a source that likely sits in their craw (as it should):

Asked about the open letter of 47 US Senators to Iranian leaders, the Iranian Foreign Minister, Dr. Javad Zarif, responded that “in our view, this letter has no legal value and is mostly a propaganda ploy. It is very interesting that while negotiations are still in progress and while no agreement has been reached, some political pressure groups are so afraid even of the prospect of an agreement that they resort to unconventional methods, unprecedented in diplomatic history. This indicates that like Netanyahu, who considers peace as an existential threat, some are opposed to any agreement, regardless of its content.

Zarif expressed astonishment that some members of US Congress find it appropriate to write to leaders of another country against their own President and administration. He pointed out that from reading the open letter, it seems that the authors not only do not understand international law, but are not fully cognizant of the nuances of their own Constitution when it comes to presidential powers in the conduct of foreign policy.

Foreign Minister Zarif added that “I should bring one important point to the attention of the authors and that is, the world is not the United States, and the conduct of inter-state relations is governed by international law, and not by US domestic law. The authors may not fully understand that in international law, governments represent the entirety of their respective states, are responsible for the conduct of foreign affairs, are required to fulfil the obligations they undertake with other states and may not invoke their internal law as justification for failure to perform their international obligations.

The Iranian Foreign Minister added that “change of administration does not in any way relieve the next administration from international obligations undertaken by its predecessor in a possible agreement about Irans peaceful nuclear program.” He continued “I wish to enlighten the authors that if the next administration revokes any agreement with the stroke of a pen, as they boast, it will have simply committed a blatant violation of international law.

I would say that these Senators were “caught with their pants down,” because we haven’t had a good sex scandal in a while.  Penis problems however, don’t start wars.  Stupid actions by traitors do.

And that what this is.  Members of the Senate, including some who have or who plan to run for the highest office in the United States, try to interfere with international agreements to stop wars.  These folks don’t even know how our government works, and have to learn about it from the very folks they are trying to threaten.  And they want to be in charge.  Hell, they are in charge of too much already.

Which song do you prefer?

Or this one:

*     *     *

I would like to write good things about the current crop of Republicans.  Really I would.  Feel free to send me links to anything good they have done.  Anything that helps people.  Anything that helps our country.




Filed under 2016, Adult Traumas, Bat-shit crazy, Campaigning, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Driving, Flatulence


Before I started blogging, I hadn’t done much personal writing.  I’m a medical writer at work, so I’ve been working with words for decades.  But they weren’t for me.  They weren’t about me.  And they didn’t help me get beyond my share of those things that landed on my shoulders and my heart and pushed down.  Tried to drag me under.  Things that succeeded sometimes, I’m sorry to say.

For years I’d grieved.  I couldn’t get beyond the loss of much loved family members.  Until I wrote this post.  Now, I think and write my stories with more smiles and fewer tears.  Through the humor I found writing it, I got myself back.  And them, too.  It was a win-win.  By writing it, I was able to heal.

I had forgotten that really, the only thing as powerful as words is being able to laugh.  When I first posted Both Sides Now three years ago, my bloggin’ buddies didn’t quite know whether it was OK to laugh.  It is.  I did.  I do.

My long-time bloggin’ buddies may remember this post.  I’m posting it again mostly for myself and for my newer friends.

*     *     *

Both Sides Now

“The Season” makes me crabby.  Grumpy.  Irritable.  I’ve come to hate it.  Everything about it.  I hate the music, the crowded stores, the decorations.  I especially hate the decorations.

Last year a friend stopped by our house in the middle of December.  “God, it’s December 15th,” I said to her, “and the only decoration I have up is the wreath on the door!”

“I don’t think that counts, Lease,” responded my husband John. “You didn’t take that down from last year.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tonight, I’m looking around at my undecorated house thinking, “uggggh,” not “Ho ho ho!”

It wasn’t always true, though.  I used to be one of them.  I was a veritable Christmas Elf.  I baked, I decorated.  I embroidered Christmas stockings for the whole family.  My son Jacob and I built gingerbread houses that did not come from a mix or a box and were actually made of gingerbread stuck together in the shape of a house!  My friends got a bottle of homemade Irish Cream liqueur.  Some used it to get their kids to bed on Christmas Eve.

But mostly, I sang.  The records, tapes and CDs came out on Thanksgiving.  From the moment I woke up the day after Thanksgiving, until New Years, I would trill away.  “White Christmas,” “Do You Hear What I Hear?” “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”  I belted “Mele Kalikimaka” when I had an established escape route to avoid people trying to punch me.  I know the words to all 18,423 verses of Frosty the Snowman.  I would start singing in the shower and keep going until John tackled me and put duct tape across my mouth, usually at about 8:30 a.m.  Regardless, I’d start up again the next morning.

If the current, Crabby Christmas Me got a hold of the old Merry Christmas Me, I would slap myself silly.

So you see, I do understand the Christmas-sy part of Christmas.  The love, the joy, the traditions.

But now I see the other side.  And it’s that “tradition” part that is to blame.

You see, my family’s always been fairly competitive.  My mother and her sister Ruth were particularly so.  They’d argue at each shared Sunday dinner over a million things:  whose gravy was better (my mother’s), who cracked the best one-liner (always Aunt Ruth – she was a hoot), and most traumatically for me, whose young daughter was taller. (Duh, Maureen was almost a year older than me – of course she won every time.  But you’re not taller now, are you?  And you’re still older, Maur.  You’re still older.  How do you like it??)  Darn, I wish I’d missed the competitive gene.

When I was a kid, Aunt Ruth was high on the list of my favorite relatives.  Now she’s tops on an altogether different list.  And it ain’t Santa’s list, neither.

Because Aunt Ruth started a family tradition.  A competition.  But it’s not a family tradition I recommend, especially during the Christmas season.  In fact, it should have a warning, although I’m not sure where you’d put it:  Don’t try this at home.

You see, Aunt Ruth started the tradition of kicking the bucket on a major holiday.  What fun!  Great idea!  Not many families do that!  Hey, we are DIFFERENT!

Knowing Aunt Ruth, I’m sure her last thought was “Doris, you’ll never top this one!  I’m dying on Thanksgiving!!!!”   She was no doubt a bit miffed when my mother joined her a couple of years later.

Because, not to be outdone, Mom arrived in the afterlife on Easter Sunday.

Their party really got going when we reached Y2K, and my sister Judy died unexpectedly on my birthday in January.  Now, you might argue that my birthday is not, technically speaking, a holiday.  Not a paid day off for most folks.  But hey, in my book, this qualifies.  So there.

As time went on, there were fewer and fewer holidays I could celebrate.  The only big one left was Christmas.

Guess what happened on Christmas, 2000!

Yup, Dad reclaimed his spot at the head of the table with Mom, Judy and Aunt Ruth. Dad trumped them all.  Or because it was Christmas, perhaps he trumpeted them all.  Maybe both.

I must say I am rather ticked off about it all.  Sort of changes the tone of the Holidays, you see.  I plan to have words with all four of them, next time I see them.  And I will not be nice.

In the meantime, celebrating holidays, well, it just seems so odd to me.  Especially Christmas, because Christmas is so stuff-oriented, and most of my Christmas stuff is from them.  It takes a bit of the fun out of decorating.

For a while, I considered joining the Eastern Orthodox Church.  That way I could celebrate the same holidays, just on different days.  I could keep all my Christmas crap!  I could decorate!  I could bake!  I could sing!  But then I realized that the change would just give us all additional high priority target dates, and I don’t have enough family members left to meet the challenge.  So Eastern Orthodox is out.

At the same time, I also realized that, when Dad hit the Holiday Lottery, the whole tradition had to stop.  Because I’m pretty sure that biting the dust on, say, Columbus Day, just wouldn’t cut it.  So why bother?

Nevertheless, this whole thing has made me decidedly anti-holiday.

There is one holiday I still look forward to, though.  Groundhog Day.  I just can’t figure out what sort of decorations to put up.

Photo courtesy of Google Images


Filed under Adult Traumas, Bat-shit crazy, Birthday, Bloggin' Buddies, Childhood Traumas, Christmas Stories, Dad, Family, Health and Medicine, History, Holidays, Huh?, Humor, Mental Health, Mom, Taking Care of Each Other, Writing

Longing for Dick

It was while commenting on Doobster’s post, Art Imitating Life or Life Imitating Art, that I realized that the unthinkable had happened.   It’s true.

Doobster made me look back, and I thought of the men in my past.


And George.

And Ronnie.

Now I find myself looking back fondly. Longing for Dick.*

I'm gonna be sick.  Google, why'd you do this to me?

I’m gonna be sick. Google, why’d you do this to me?


I wish I were kidding.

Often, I’ve realized that if the GOP hadn’t gone completely over the edge into fanaticism, that I’d be a Republican.

Google Me This

Google Me This

Because, you see, I remember when Republicans were not crazy. When they were a valuable part of the strong government that built our country into the envy of the world.

When they were not out only to protect their rich buddies. When they knew how to govern.

When they could compromise. More importantly, when compromise was the goal, because they knew that THAT is how government works. And good government works for everybody.

I remember the wonderful things that were done in the 1970s — Environmental laws, highways funded, bridges built.  Government FUCKING WORKED.

But starting with Reagan, the image makers changed the face of government – remember:

Reagan put folks into Cabinet positions who didn’t believe in government.  The Energy and Education Departments were led by folks whose job was to destroy the agencies.  The Environmental Protection Administration was led by Anne Gorsuch who didn’t promulgate the regulations that she had to — by law — promulgate.  People were put into levels of responsibility to thwart the laws they were supposed to administer.

So yes, I am sitting here looking back through history and realizing that the GOP has, in leaps and bounds, ensured that government doesn’t work. [I’ve said for years, why do people want to elect folks to government who don’t’ believe in government? What is the fucking point of that?]

It was compounded by George H.W. and then by George W. who put more and more jokers in positions of power.

And what a surprise, the government doesn’t work any more.


So now I find myself looking back fondly to Richard Nixon.  My, ummm, hero.

Google, natch.

Google, natch.

Is there no limit to what these Republican will do to me?





* Yeah, I know I skipped Jerry. But he served on a naval ship with my Dad in WWII during a typhoon and Gerald Ford saved the ship. So I cut Jerry some serious slack. Sue me.


Filed under Adult Traumas, Bloggin' Buddies, Campaigning, Cancer, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Elections, GOP, History, Huh?, Humor, Hypocrisy, Law, Longing for Dick, Mental Health, Mysteries, Politics, Science, Stupidity, Taking Care of Each Other, Voting, Wild Beasts

A Missed Opportunity at The One-Eyed Pig

Normally, I don’t spend much time thinking about my own funeral.  But a few years ago, I attended the perfect funeral.  I decided that I want one just like it.  Because people told stories!

And of course, this funeral was held at a bar.  Which made it more of a party.

Not just any bar, though.  It was held in a slightly down-in-the-mouth watering hole, pool hall and barbeque pit.  But its name was what truly made it memorable:

Yelp Image

Yelp Image

Still, it wasn’t perfect.  Because on that very day, I missed a golden opportunity.  A chance to shine.  A chance to tell a story.  A chance to be remembered by a room full of people who would smile at just the thought of the, ummm, guest of honor, and of my story.


Truthfully, I don’t know what happened.  It’s been decades since I had stage fright.  If I’d made a fool of myself the only people who would know it were strangers and family members.  My family has seen me fall/fail before; they love me anyway.  They have no choice.

It was Jeff’s funeral, my late sister Judy’s first husband.   Father to my wonderful niece and nephew.

In addition to my niece and nephew and their spouses and kids, of course, Jeff’s wife was there, along with Jeff’s two sons by his second marriage.  I’d gotten to know and like them at various family gatherings throughout the years.  Judy’s second husband was also there, along with his mother and sister.    Family gatherings in my family tend to be complicated.  They often involve more non-blood relations than blood relations.  Which is really pretty neat, if you ask me.

So Jeff’s funeral was well attended.  And since the bar was still open, in addition to family and friends, a few patrons stumbled in, surprised to find themselves at a funeral.  But the beer flowed, and nobody seemed to mind.  Or notice.

At one point, Jeff’s wife suggested that anyone with a story to tell about Jeff should speak up, and tell their Jeff story.

Now, it’s important to note that Jeff and I weren’t close.  Jeff and Judy had divorced nearly 40 years previously, and I had only seen him at big family events.  I was mostly at the funeral to support my niece and nephew, and to spiritually thank Jeff and my lucky stars that the two of them have been in my life.

Still, I did have the perfect Jeff story.

Only I didn’t tell it.

There was a room full of people, waiting to hear good stories.  Some who knew me, some who didn’t.  The perfect captive audience.

Only I choked.

I listened to other people talk about Jeff, how they’d met, how they’d interacted.  What a good guy he had been.  They were all perfectly acceptable stories.  Nice even.  But nothing memorable.

I knew that my story was better.  I would have been the star of the funeral.  Well, one of the stars, anyway.

Of course, that’s why I didn’t tell it.  Right?  I didn’t want to show anybody up.  Right?  I didn’t want to take the spotlight off the guest of honor.  Right?

Today is the anniversary of Jeff’s passing.  It’s time to correct my mistake.  Right my wrong.

Time to tell my Jeff story.

*     *     *

Wednesday afternoon study hall in ninth grade, held in the cafeteria, had assigned seats.  I sat at the table with three popular girls.  I didn’t qualify as a fourth popular girl.  They tolerated my presence.  More or less.

In the middle of the hour, Leah, the most popular and giggliest of the three, got a pass and went to the girls room.  She came back flustered, smiling.  Practically swooning.  She whispered to Karen, who immediately needed to go to the bathroom.

Karen came back just as excited.  Miss Williams, the study hall monitor and nasty old math teacher had to shush her and Leah up.

And then, of course, since there were three of them, Debbie had to take her turn going to the girls room.

Now I’ll admit, I was curious as to what was going on.  What was so exciting in the girls room?

I didn’t rate highly enough with them that they’d include me, tell me what was going on.  I sat there at the table while they exchanged notes, feeling left out.  Unpopular.  Friendless.

Study Hall ended, and the four of us at the table were held back for a moment by Miss Williams to be reprimanded for making so much noise.  But realizing that I hadn’t been included in the mayhem, I was let out ahead of Leah, Karen and Debbie.

I walked down out the door and was surprised to see my new brother-in-law, Jeff, standing in the hall, pushing a broom.  Jeff was young, handsome, and newly married.  In those days, and for the first few years of his marriage to my sister Judy, he took whatever job was available.  So Jeff had started working as a janitor at my junior high that very day.

And just as Leah, Karen and Debbie walked into the hall, Jeff put his arm around me, gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek and flashed his amazing smile at me.

The three girls stopped and stood with their mouths agape, looking between me and Adonis.

You see, Jeff was drop-dead gorgeous.

This is why the girls were all flustered.  Jeff was a ringer for actor Jan-Michael Vincent.  Bot seriously good looking men.

This is why the girls were all flustered. Jeff was a ringer for actor Jan-Michael Vincent. The resemblance is uncanny, actually. Both seriously good looking men.

“Are these your friends, Lease,” Jeff asked, smiling at me and at them.

“This is Leah, Karen and Debbie,” I responded, not explaining that I wasn’t cool enough to be considered their friend.

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff said, smiling briefly at the girls, and then flashing me another big grin before giving me another peck on the cheek. 

“Lease, you’d better get to class before we both get in trouble.”

The four of us walked on down the hall.  But instead of walking ahead of me as they would normally do, the three girls included me in their conversation.  They wanted to know all about the gorgeous guy who had just kissed me — twice — right there in the hall.

But I just let them wonder.  The four of us walked into Miss Williams’ math class, and I sat down with my friends.  My real friends, who liked me even before they met Jeff.

Sadly, Jeff didn’t last too long as a janitor at my Junior High.  All the girls spent way too much time in the hall, staring at Jeff.  Jeff was always polite and gentlemanly, worked hard, and always had a peck on the cheek for me, especially when the popular girls were looking.

On this anniversary, I raise my glass to my handsome brother-in-law.

Rest in Peace, Jeff.

And thanks for that one time in school when I was considered cool.


Filed under Adult Traumas, Family, Humor, Wild Beasts

I’d Prefer Flowers, If It’s All the Same To You

At my house, we’re not big on Valentine’s Day.  We have a nice dinner, John gets me flowers and I get him a book.  This year the book I got him is on the Civil War.

I don’t get mad if he forgets.  I mean, we’ve been married 27 years.  I know he loves me.

But I would certainly start a Civil War of my own if this was his idea of a Valentine.

Photo Credit, CrooksandLiars.com.  Thanks for the laugh!

Photo Credit, CrooksandLiars.com. Thanks for the laugh!


Filed under Awards, Books, Family, Holidays, Humor