Posted in Tuesday Tales

How NOT to Make a Bird Cat Friendship

When I was a little girl, my sister Brenda took care of me in the summer while our parents worked.  We got in trouble – A LOT!  If we weren’t fighting each other; we were scheming together.  But I tended to drive her a little batty sometimes.  One such instant played out with our pets.

Brenda had a parrot named BB, and I had a cat named Tiger Wayne.  Yes, I picked that name myself.  Cause no one should be without a middle name, right?  That thought process tells you a lot about my shenanigans.

To say the cat wasn’t fond of the bird is a gross understatement.  You know the scene in the movie Madagascar when Alex the Lion looks at Marty the zebra with steaks in his eyes?  That was Tiger Wayne to BB.  Well, of course I knew how to fix it.  Don’t I always have the answer?  

I snatched up Tiger Wayne and put him in the bathroom.  Then I retrieved BB from his cage and had him join Tiger Wayne in the bathroom.  I admonished them to be friends, then locked the door, shut it and stepped into the hall.  Immediate chaos.

With partially clipped wings BB lacked the ability to fly to higher safety.  He could airborne for a second then crash to the ground.  He was squawking and banging into the walls as Tiger Wayne pursued him with screeching of his own.  Realizing I’m a stupid little kid complicit in pet homicide, I started screaming.  Brenda, who up to this point was enjoying her day lounging in the sun, came racing in.

“What’s wrong?!”  Her voice full of fear she scanned me.  Judging by my level of screaming, she was certain she’d find my arm cut off or something equally terrifying.

“Tiger Wayne is going to eat BB.”

That’s the precise moment the noise from the bathroom penetrated her fear of me being hurt.    She rattled the doorknob in panic.  “The door won’t open.”

“I locked it.”

If her bird’s life wasn’t in danger, I swear she would have throttled me right there.  Instead, she wrapped up all my stupidity into a single sentence dripping with disbelief.  “Why would you do that?”     

Just when she thought I couldn’t shock her more, I answered through quaking sobs and large gulps of air,.  “I wanted them to be friends.”

“You locked them in the bathroom to be friends?”

I nodded.  She practically growled.  A solution arriving in my sister’s brain spared my life. She tore off into the other room and returned with a hammer.  Before I asked her intent she began whaling away on the wooden door.  Once she made a hole, she reached through and unlocked the door.  Because BB was still intact Brenda allowed me to remain that way.  Not to mention, beating a hole in a door went a long way in relieving her fear and anger.  

With Tiger Wayne and BB safely separated, Brenda determined we were in big trouble with Mom.  So, what do we do?  Lie of course.  I wasn’t in full agreement.  However, I thought locking our pets in the bathroom together would make them friends.  So, maybe I’d go with Brenda on this one. 

Brenda told Mom I got locked in the bathroom and couldn’t get out.  Ronnie, a neighbor up the street, came down and knocked the hole in the door to save me.  It offended me Mom bought the story.  How dumb did she think I was?  Sure, locking a barely able to fly parrot in the bathroom with his greatest predator wasn’t my best idea, but good grief!  I could work a doorknob!   

Everything was fine until Mom thanked Ronnie for saving me from a door I mastered.  Ronnie was clueless.  Brenda, operating on same genius level as I, didn’t consider the possibility of Mom mentioning it to Ronnie.  Even though Ronnie lived only three houses away.  And she and Mom talked.  Every day.     

Mom picked our story apart.  Brenda and I may not have been the brightest crayons in the box, but we knew when Mom was baiting us.  We confessed. 

Mom believed in creative punishment.  She made us paint the side of the house.  And that’s where Mom’s crayon lost a bit of brightness.  A hot summer day, frustrated sisters, and house paint?  Mom was asking for it.  That’s a tale for another Tuesday.

Posted in funny, Tuesday Tales

When Email Goes Awry

I think it’s important to always keep a sense of humor. Laughter decreases stress hormones and releases endorphins which make us feel good.  I’m starting a new blog group titled Tuesday Tales. I’ll share some of my crazy antics, past and present. If you have a funny story you want me to share email me at jmariegvs@gmail.com. If your story needs names changed to protect the guilty I can do that. Since my tales tend to be quite colorful I’ll break ya’ll in easy.

My father-in-law and I tend to get into mischief.  We don’t do anything really bad but we think we’re hilarious and that’s usually where the trouble begins.

Years ago when Steve and I first got married we lived in Nicholasville and didn’t see my in-laws as frequently as we do now.  Steve set up email accounts for his Dad and me and we emailed on a regular basis.

Anyone who knows me knows I am anything but tech-savvy.  At work, the IT department spent the vast majority of their time at my desk muttering things like, “how did you get it to do that?” They called for backup. Sometimes the backup called for backup. Other times they made me leave.  But how hard is emailing, right?

My father-in-law and I emailed each other jokes we found online.  I don’t recall what joke I sent to set this in motion.  But I got a response along the lines of, “why are you sending me this?”  I thought it was odd it needed explaining but he’s all old and stuff.  So, there’s that.

The next day I got a follow-up email on my explanation reading, “Who are you?”  Oh, I get it now. He’s playing a little game of pretending he doesn’t know who I am. I’ll play along.  Meanwhile, on a daily basis, I said to Steve, “You’re Dad is so funny.”  But I never fully explained the statement.  He didn’t question me because as I said, his Dad and I are always up to something.

Around day four of the back and forth I received an email stating, “Who are you and why do you think I’m interested in this?” I respond with, “It’s your favorite daughter-in-law.”

He responds, “I don’t have a daughter-in-law.” Now, normal thinking humans would pause and consider the situation.  However, I’ve never claimed normalcy. And that’s why the conversation unraveled.

“I don’t have a daughter-in-law.”

“Well, you better call the police because I’ve been sleeping with your son for the last six months.”

“Lady, my son is six years old and you better stop emailing me.”

No need to tell me the last part.  I not only wouldn’t email him again but contemplated tossing the computer out the window.  Not understanding technology I imagined the man sending police to my house, me registering as a sex offender, and my “most wanted” picture at the post office when I refused.

“I’ve done something bad.”  My exact words when Steve walked in.  When he finished laughing he assured me I wasn’t going to jail for cyber molestation and showed me the single different letter between my father-in-law’s email and the random stranger.

The moral of the story? Make certain you’re inappropriate jokes go to the person as crazy as you are.