Call me Dylan–
The instructions are simple:
- Post a caption to the photo
- Reblog or share this post with your caption and title and tag it “Call me Dylan Caption Fun”
- Make it as original (and as funny) as you can
This little person keeps us on our toes, keeps us laughing and keeps me wondering if I’ve lost my (54 year old) mind—–
I’ve decided to share the laughs and I challenge each of you to help me keep the laughter alive —
The instructions are simple:
(Even though her name is not Dylan that is her name of choice when she’s up to her silly antics.)
Here’s the first of many “Call me Dylan” photo caption prompts—
hurry up Chuckie
mom make him hurry please
I’m standing out here
squeezing my knees
what’s taking so long
why’s he so slow?
please come out Chuckie
I have to go
I’m out here
doing the potty dance
I peed my pants.
A friend recently posted this list on his fb page. As the mother of three beautiful girls I thought it would be fitting to create a list of “Rules For My Daughter”.
The guys in the locker room were amazed. They couldn’t believe how big it was. Some of them refused to look his way but others seemed mesmerized by it and the fact that he was captain of the swim team made it impossible to hide. He learned to accept the shunning and the staring and glaring because his mom was right, joining the team was a great idea. He’d been an avid swimmer since early childhood and the coaches and fans loved him. Truth be known, his teammates loved him too, but most of them were, admittedly, jealous. Timmy’s father gave him pep talks frequently and during those talks he was always sure to mention his own accomplishments. He was proud of the fact that his only son had seemingly inherited his athletic ability and his personality, not to mention his physical build and appearance. As a young swimmer Timmy’s dad embraced and showcased every aspect of himself no matter the audience and he was often reminded of those days when looking at his son.
During the last swim mete of the season Timmy walked out of the locker room wearing his team uniform; Speedo swim trunks and his favorite extra-long swim shirt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of reporters moving in his direction. Timmy immediately grinned while simultaneously removing his swim shirt. When the reporters were in close proximity Timmy swirled around and gave them a perfect view of his full – faced boyish grin and his beautiful six pack. Those were actually only two small pieces of the beautiful “man pie” that made him the eye candy that he was… and he knew it!
His ego was enormous!
(This is the eighth and final chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)
(This is the eighth and final chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)
Thank goodness the other bathroom was complete or we might have had an entire family of critters living in the walls. What I wanted to say was, “I wish the other bathroom had been incomplete, that way I could have had my own little family “living inside the walls”, but you never know who might be reading this. I wouldn’t want the reader to think I’m weird or anything, you know how people can take one little comment and run with it. Hell, one opinion like that and the police might be at my door with a battering ram, a search warrant and a strait jacket.
Ok, I have total and complete recall of that yellow painted room with the divided towel closet and the long white vanity top. That towel closet was the perfect hiding spot. When Lil Renny and Chuckie would try to force me to play games like “hide and go choke the middle child” or “ring around the middle child’s head with the barb wire headband”, I would hunker down in that closet behind the towels and stay there until they forgot they were looking for me. Naturally, they caught me one time – just before I got into the closet, they dragged me out into the yard. That’s when I learned to play “red light, green light, middle child lights out”. You’ve seen enough of how my life went to understand how that was played without my even going into detail. They also taught me their version of “Simon says” that day, only it was called “Brother Says” and I was the only pigeon playing. After several rounds of “Brother says go spit on yourself” and “Brother says go lick that chicken”, the chickens got wise and ran into the henhouse. That’s when I got away from them and ran inside and got into the towel closet. Unfortunately, there were no towels in the closet that day so I did like all little kid’s do… I covered my eyes with my hands so they couldn’t find me and guess what? They searched that bathroom high and low for more than 3 hours looking everywhere from inside the towel closet to down the bath tub drain but never found me… and they say the middle child is always the slow one, hahahahahahaha!
(This is the seventh chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)
http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Pw chapter 6
Being the parents definitely had its perks. For example, they had their very own bathroom complete with their very own incomplete shower. I have no idea why they never had it finished. Heck, with daddy and Mr. Dunston’s brick fence building skills, one would think it would have been an easy task for them, but I guess not. There was a large gaping hole that exposed all the plumbing on one side and a plywood trap door on the other. I would imagine the idea of losing that hook inside the wall was enough to prevent mama and daddy from asking for any assistance from him.
I often wondered if anyone else realized the trap door led to the hole and vice versa. I have so many memories of that room, like the time mama made me crawl through the trap door to look for critters after she heard something running in the wall. The idea was for me to go in, catch, skin, cook and serve it for dinner. Mama promised I could have the leg and thigh portions if it was a nutria. What she didn’t know was that every time she and daddy and the boys left me home alone, I would crawl into that hole and hang out. The critters within were friends. There were the conjoined nutrias, the nervous 3-legged possum, the owl with the glass eye and the pair of bald headed bald eagles. They made me feel loved and needed… go figure… One evening at mama’s insistence, I crawled through the trap door in search of a nutria big enough to be dinner for 4, no not 5, I was the middle child and I always ate alone. I knew Asa and Asa were big enough to feed the entire family, but I knew I could never harm a hair on their stuck together backs, especially the way Asa looked at me and the way Asa looked back at me. That was the night I had to improvise, so I crawled in, bent over and took a chunk out of my right ankle. It was the one with the fungus on it so I had to work twice as hard to chew through all that thick hard skin. To be sure it would be enough to feed the whole family, I reached around and bit a plug of fat off my back and that was actually quite simple. (For more than a year Chuckie and Lil Renny enjoyed playing tug of war. I was the rope… one held my feet and the other one held my head. I think my neck stretched more than a foot before the judge caught wind and banned them from their favorite game.) I took my meat to the kitchen and tossed all of it into a pot of hot water with some fresh dug potatoes and carrots. When it finished cooking I sat back and watched my family have a fleshy foot fungus and back fat food fiesta, and I didn’t even mind the fact that Princess wouldn’t share her bone with me as I watched. Thinking back and looking forward, I suspect that explains my chronic back issues and maybe even my recurring foot fungus.
If you’ll recall i introduced my Aunt Maggie to the blogosphere back in July in “Aunt Maggie’s power Outage”- http://wp.me/p5AbPX-zG . Well today while driving home from mass I thought of her again and decided to share another of my precious “Aunt Maggie” tales.
My Aunt Maggie was a six-foot-tall, full- figured woman. She wore a size 44 double D brassiere, often bragged about wearing nothing but the best, white cotton granny panties on the market, size 22 triple X. Aunt Maggie said that wearing those little nylon and lace things was too much work. She said all of that twisting and pinching and pulling and digging all day long made her fingers and arms sore, and it kept her with an awful rash, too.
Anyway, I didn’t care about any of that. Aunt Maggie was my favorite. We spent hours and hours together, especially when school was out. I specifically recall the year I stayed with Aung Maggie during my spring break. It was April, and boy oh boy, was it windy outside. We used a pair of Aunt Maggie’s bloomers to make parachutes, and we jumped off the barn into the duck pond. That was so much fun… until we saw the snake. That was the longest, fattest snake I’d ever laid eyes on. It had fangs hanging outside its mouth and it had two rows of teeth. Now most snakes have little beady eyes, but not that one… the eyes in that thing’s head looked to be as big as golf balls, and they were oozing some kind of green slimy looking stuff. To make matters worse, I think it was blind but it apparently had some kind of heat sensing ability. That fat, long, double row tooth, fanged, blind thing was swimming right for me, and no matter which way I went, it stayed on my tail. I was screaming and splashing and trying to get away from it when I saw movement out the corner of my eye. I looked over my shoulder and there she was – Aunt Maggie- in all her glory. I wanted to give up and let the snake eat me because life as I knew it, would never be the same after seeing all that up close and in person. She gave a whole new meaning to “naked and afraid”. She was naked and I was afraid… and nauseous… and ready to die.
Aunt Maggie wasn’t having it. I saw her take one deep breath then trap the air inside her cheeks. In one swift move, she released something that was pure evil, it was repugnant and noxious, and at the same time, it was as hot as fish grease. I immediately smelled hair burning…my eyebrows and eyelashes were gone in that instant. Luckily, between the heat and the shear fear and panic, I managed to either subconsciously block or ignore enough of that atrocious odor to limit the blood loss from my nose; but that poor snake never saw it coming. It hit him dead between the golf balls. Aunt Maggie immediately flipped on her back then lunged forward taking that snake’s head between her 44 double D’s and that, dear people, was all she wrote. When her girls let him go, I watched as he lazily slithered to the bank, curled up in the snake fetal position, put his tail in his mouth and sucked himself to sleep.
My young teen and I are at it again and I’m winning!
A pitiful looking stray dog wandered into our yard several days ago and per the norm, my young teen wants to keep it. You know how kids love puppies and kittens and baby bunnies– right up until they become dogs and cats and adult rabbits? Well, that’s exactly how my girl is. You see where I’m going with this? Yep, she loves em either until they outgrow their cuteness or until it wears off or until they become adults. So, she asked if we could keep the pup and of course I said no. Here’s the conversation that resulted in my taking the lead:
Young Teen: “Ma, can we keep her?”
Old Mom: “No”
Young Teen: “Ma, please, I’ll feed her”
Old Mom: “No you won’t, I have to force you to feed the one we already have”
Young Teen: “I promise I’ll feed her. If I don’t you can take my phone”
Old Mom: While laughing hysterically–“Girl, I can take you phone anytime I want, what else ya got”
Young Teen: 1 Old Mom: 2
(This is the second chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read previous chapters)
Chapter 1 http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox
Now off to the kitchen we go.
Our kitchen had peel and stick tile on the floor and a rotary dial telephone mounted to the wall. The stove and the sink shared a wall and the fridge stood tall and stout across from them. If memory serves me right, and of course it always does, we did most of our fine dining right there on that laminate topped bar. Microwaves weren’t a thing back then so heating up the grub required the use of a pot or pan and some fire. Yes, fire… from a stove… a real stove… with real fire which, by the way, came from one of those little wooden sticks with the red and white tips known as a match. All it took was a single scrape across a rough surface and voila, you were holding the only thing standing between you and that steaming hot cup of coffee. Naturally, the coffee beans had been picked, cracked and crushed fresh from the field, just hours earlier.
Ok, enough of that… let’s get to the memory…
I have total recall of the night I was sitting on a barstool in the kitchen with my older brother. Yes, I was often subjected to being left in close proximity to one of them but who would have ever thought he could injure me with my mother sitting within arm’s length of us. After all, this was a supervised visit and the lights were on. The paperwork from the courthouse stated plain and simple that I should never be left unattended, without mama or daddy present, especially since that incident with the kerosene in the coke bottle. Well, mama was talking on the phone when Chuckie decided to blow black pepper in my face to make me sneeze. Did he realize I had eyes that could be damaged? Badly! And they say he was the smart one. Needless to say, mama’s telephone conversation with my favorite uncle ended pretty quickly when that black pepper got in my brown eyes. Mama grabbed me and ran to the bathroom, and I can still hear the water rushing in my ears every time mama pushed that handle down trying to flush my eyes.
Memories, memories, memories… where shall I start?… Ok, how about this…The playroom… the time my dad and his friends hired a “hit man from Detroit” to come down and “take care of a situation”. To this day, I still remember wondering how the hell “Uncle John” was gonna take care of anything without ever opening his mouth. He never uttered a single word. He just sat there with an oversized Stetson on his head and an extra long trench (Godfather looking overcoat) with his hands hidden deep inside his pockets. Wait…I guess he had hands… to be honest I never saw them so he could very well have been handless… which would make the fact that he never spoke even more of an anomaly for a man hired to “take care of a situation”.. Shit… was this real life? It had to be. I can still see those damn near thigh high, shiny, black boots he was wearing in my mind’s rear view mirror.
Unfortunately, I have no further recollection of what ever came of “Uncle John” and his silent self. However, I have vague memories of sipping that sweet, fruity tasting, warm tea with the funny smelling froth on top and my granddaddy’s old pocket watch swinging from side to side in front of me as I dozed off.
(up next: Chapter 2– The Kitchen)