Mother Goosed

Aging makes a bunch of collateral strikes that one doesn’t expect.  That’s assuming you already know that spider veins and age spots are going to decorate your body and those darned skin tags are going to show up in extremely irritating places.  (Or maybe it’s just me who gets them underneath my bra elastic.)

Why do ears and noses continue to grow even as hearing and sense of smell decline?

Feet?  When I was in college, I wore a size 6.  Are my feet growing, too, or have my arches sunk 2 1/2 sizes?

Even as some parts are balding, let’s not even talk about inappropriate hairs that crop up in other places.   Last week when we were preparing to drive back to Charlotte, Dearly Beloved pointed to his nose and asked, “Do you want me to tweeze these white nose hairs or would you rather I leave them so you’ll have something to obsess about on the trip home?”

I voted for the pluck.  (But thanks for asking.)

No, in the ever-changing period between maturity and over-ripening,  I was referring to the noises we find ourselves emitting.  It’s hard to know where to start…! I’m not speaking of gas, although more than one friend has confessed how irritating it is to have spent all those years telling their children it is rude to break wind, only to have grandchildren now whispering that Grandma “let one.”

I wonder if T. Boone Pickens is looking into harnessing this.   He’s already thinking “natural gas” to run cars.  I can see it now. . . a world where senior citizens and 9-year-old boys fuel the country’s transportation needs.

No, I was speaking of noises within my own house.  For sometime now, DB and I have  realized that we’ve developed some decidedly annoying habits.  By the time he pointed mine out to me,  it was full-blown and hard to break:  I grunt.

I grunt when I sit down and when I stand up.  I grunt when I reach for the car door or when I bend over to retrieve something.  Not just a soft sigh kind of grunt, either.  If you heard Venus Williams in a tie-breaker at Wimbleton and me as I was reaching in the back of a lower cabinet looking for a pot lid,  you’d be hard pressed to guess which one of us was exerting the most effort.

DB, on the other hand, is a yawner. In his case. . . well, remember the Dr. Seuss character named Von Vleck, who “is yawning so wide you can look down his neck”? What do you want to know about the view beyond DB’s tonsils?   His yawns are not silent; there is a deep breath intake, followed by a lion-worthy roar.  Since he is Mr. Proper,  it is quite out of character for him to yawn so widely that it exceeds the span of covering hand.

To add to the audio, we have Miss Piggy, the snorter, still trolling the kitchen floor.   The sounds would be appropriate on a truffle hunt, perhaps,  but are way over-the-top for the Crumb Police.   If we toss cereal out for the birds, she will spend hours making sure she finds every single one.

She makes that sound when she has an itch too.   With what we spend each month on flea control, we should be spared the neght-neght-neght-neght-neght as she burrows into various parts of her body on a scavenger hunt for itch-causers.

Picture this bedroom scene because I promise it’s the truth:  DB is asleep, having dozed off watching a baseball game and I am reading a book.  Miss Piggy is soundly asleep in the den at the other end of the house.   When I turn off the tv and the light and am just beginning to fall asleep, however,  here she comes, clicking down the hall to the bedroom.  She climbs into her dog bed and begins the annoying neght-neght-neght hygiene ritual.

I might WELCOME the sound of a buzzing fly or cricket at that point.  I can’t yell at her to stop so I climb out of bed and stand over her to whisper ferociously, “STOP THAT!” She will cease and desist immediately,  sometimes moving into snoring mode before I barely have time to get re-settled in the bed.

What would Mother Goose have thought of all this noise?

Mr. Lee had a habit, you see. . .

he would yawn and open so wide

That a little bird, in a movement absurd,

built a tiny nest inside.

Mistress Mary, sounding quite scary,

emitted groans and grunts of grand scale

The noises were heard by the small yellow bird

Which thought they came from a whale.

Miss Piggy, the dog in the corner,

so convincingly snorted and sniffed as she’d root

Folks thought her to be the Muppet herself,

Hiding in a cocker spaniel suit.

The Lee household sounded so exotic

As they yawned, grunted, groaned, and roared,

Imagine their surprise when the notice arrived:

A Zoo violation, warned the zoning board.


P.S.  Happy Birthday, Son-O-Mine!









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6 thoughts on “Mother Goosed

  1. My husband and I are stil trying to adapt to each other’s “noises”….funny how you don’t even NOTICE what you’ve done for YEARS until there’s someone there…pointing it out for you each and every day.

  2. cw

    Mother Goosed!

    What a great start to an all new collection of rhymes for the ’60 is the new 30 crowd’!! lololol…..
    A best seller is born………….. :):)

    Cereally, I am serious!!:):)

  3. texastrailerparktrash

    My grandkids wouldn’t just whisper that “grandma let one,” it would be another jewel in my crown to them. I’m a real laff riot at this stage of my life! Our little dog does that annoying licking at night too, only now he’s added phony congestion noises. (Think Felix Unger in “The Odd Couple”.) Thanks for the funny and relatable post!

    1. Jessica, I like that phrasing: pointing it out for you each and every day. Now THERE’S a pithy statement, Girlfriend!

      TTPT, a jewel in your crown, huh?! LOL!

      CW! I’ll get to work right away. I can see it now. . . Grandma looked purply because she drooled some of her Slurpy. . . .
      That what you have in mind?

      I have found TTPT’s very clever blog. Maybe she didn’t want it mentioned on a post with farting grandmas. (By the way, I didn’t admit I WAS one, I said I KNEW some.) Screw that. Here ’tis:

      It’s called “I Tried Being Tasteful, But the Strain Was Too Much For Me.”

      You can view it at http://youcallthatart.wordpress.com/

  4. texastrailerparktrash

    Mary, a BIG thank you! How unbelievably kind of you to post a link to my blog! (And I don’t mind being on a post about farting grandmas at all. In fact one of our favorite toys that we look at with the grandkids at WalMart is called Flarp! and it has buttons for different variations on the farting theme. My favorite is the one called “nervous”—you can just imagine, can’t you?) What a bad influence I am….I love it! Many thanks again—–Melissa

  5. This would be a good laugh if it weren’t so true! My husband’s sneezes would wake the dead. If we combine all our noises plus those of our two dogs we would have a symphony of sound almost all the time.

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