He Who Laughs Last. . .

When I was a youngster, my childhood friend Skunky Wilson and I reverenced April Fools Day. On that day, we made an extra effort to stretch our creative processes to out do our pranks of the previous year. Most often, we succeeded.

The April Fools of my 15th year, Skunky and I were walking home from school when I asked for his help to payback my brother Delroy and my mom for the pranks they'd played on me earlier that day--Mom and Delroy had put Lux Liquid dish soap in gelatin bowls, hoping the rest of the family would mistake them for whipped Jell-o. Knowing this was one of my favorite desserts, it was almost guaranteed that I'd fall for the prank. To this day, the taste of that stuff still lingers on my tongue.

Oh, but Mom and Delroy didn't stop there. They sewed the pant legs of my jeans shut, which made getting them on an interesting project. Then, at lunch that day, instead of biting into a sandwich with sliced lunch meat between bread slices, I bit into a sandwich with torn pieces of brown paper bag.

Well, Skunky agreed to help me, and after school we hung around the house, waiting for an opportunity to spring a couple of surprises on my mother and older sibling. And boy, were we successful.

As soon as Mom and my brothers left the house to run errands, the first thing Skunky and I did was enter the bathroom, find a can of mousse, a can of hair remover, and then searched for a glue stick. Once we had these items in hand, we carefully steamed the labels off of the cans, dried the labels, rubbed the backs of them with glue, and stuck them to the opposite can--the label from the can of hair remover to the can of mousse and vice versa.

Next, Skunky and I took the pins out of the hinges of my parents' bedroom door but left the door in place, shut, as if the pins were still in. We did the same to Delroy's bedroom door.

Later that evening, from the vicinity of Del's bedroom, we heard, "Aaaaayyyyeeee," followed by a loud crash and a faint, "Got me."

Everyone quickly gathered around the doorway of my brother's bedroom and laughter filled the hall as we stood there admiring Skunky's and my handiwork. It was a proud moment to be sure.
After this incident took place, paranoia set in amongst most everyone and backs were kept to the wall for a good portion of the evening. Just as everyone started to let down their guard a little, my dad entered his bedroom to put away some freshly washed clothes. Dad didn't say anything after the door crashed, at least nothing coherent. He just handed me a hammer and pointed to his bedroom. I grabbed the pins and promptly secured the door.

Well, I was feeling fairly full of myself as I crawled into bed, but as I slid under the blankets my legs came to an abrupt halt, practically jamming my knees up to my chin. "Hey, what's the deal here?" I asked. Yip, my bed had been short-sheeted, and I could hear Mom and Del laughing in their respective rooms. Ah, but the fun wasn't over, not by a long shot.

You see, for several weeks after that fateful night, Delroy was never seen without a stocking cap over his mostly bald head, and Mom's legs were so nicked and cut from the straight-edge razor she had to buy, she looked as if she'd been in a fight with an alley cat.

What is it they say about he who laughs last?

Not Quite a Piece of Cake

My hat's off to all of the women in the world who have chosen the toughest career anyone can have, being a homemaker (or domestic engineer if you prefer). How do I know this? I was a homemaker for a number of years. That's right, I was a "Mr. Mom."

It started when I went back to college to finish my degree. After some discussion, the former Mrs. Bagley and I felt that the best way to accomplish this task was a role reversal, she'd go back to working full time, and I'd take care of the house and kids while carrying a full load at school. At the time, I remember thinking that it would be a piece of cake. Riiiight! Was I in for a big surprise.

One of the first things I quickly learned was, when it comes to house chores, my ex-wife could accomplish in an hour what it took me three hours to do. Plus, house chores got me into a lot of trouble.

While in a hurry one day, I decided it would be quicker to throw all the dirty clothes into our tired old washing machine at once . . . colors and whites. Needless to say, ex-wifey wasn't at all enthusiastic about her hot pink and passionate blue underwear and blouses.

Now, the load of wash was immense. So, naturally, I figured that meant I should put in a large amount of soap--I quickly learned the meaning of the word concentrated which was printed all over the bottle of detergent.

It didn't take long and the old washer began acting like a rabid animal. It foamed at the mouth. It bounced, rumbled and shook, until it seemed the whole house would collapse.

At first, while checking for the source of the ruckus, I shot out of the laundry room, fearing I was about to be eaten by some diseased creature. I'm telling you, it was like a B-grade science fiction movie. But, when I realized it was only the washer, I remembered what a lady at a laundromat once told me about how fabric softener kills soap suds. I waded through the sea of foam to the washing machine, reached up and grabbed the fabric softener from a shelf, and poured some into the machine. With the detergent problem solved, all that was left to do was to jump on top of the machine to hold down its bouncing and just ride out the cycle like some bull rider in a rodeo. By the time it was all over I had a feelling a-kin to what the All Around Champion of the NFR (National Finals Rodeo) must feel when he wins the silver buckle.

A few months later, I was loading the dishwasher on a Sunday morning. Since I hadn't washed the dishes the night before, I figured I 'd better get that done first off.

After loading the dishwasher, I reached down into the cupboard under the sink, looking for the detergent. What I found was a bottle of liquid dish soap. "Hmmm," I thought, "Wifey must have bought some of that liquid dishwasher soap instead of the granular kind we normally use." WRONG! Oh, it was liquid soap all right--the kind used for washing dishes in the sink!

Well, I went into the bathroom to shave. My former wife woke up at about the same time and decided to shower. So, she went to shut off the dishwasher so she'd have enough hot water when, from the kitchen I heard, "O--h Do--ug, come he--re."

At first, I thought maybe the washing machine had been rabid after all and had bitten the dishwasher, giving it hydrophobia. Foam was oozing out from around the cracks of the dishwasher door and spilled out over the kitchen floor.

Getting all the suds out of the dishwasher, as well as off of the dishes and silverware inside of it, was not an easy task. We had to take the silverware tray out of the machine and rinse it and its contents in the kitchen sink. Since the dish tray was too big for the sink, we had to take it and put it in the bathtub to shower off the soap. We then ran the empty dishwasher on the rinse cycle...twice. Then we turned the control knob to the function which empties the dirty water from the dishwasher into the sewer and ran that cycle...twice.

A week later, I thought I'd surprise former wife by getting some badly needed mopping done. I still don't understand why she was so upset with me. I mean, I thought the streaks on the walls which the mop had left behind sort of added character to the place.

A Lesson in Southern Lingo

When I was a teacher, I taught at inner-city schools. Because I wasn't well versed in inner-city lingo, and my students weren't acquainted with Southern English, we spent the first three months of the school year trying to understand each other, always responding to one another with, "What?"

I don't teach anymore, but with so many people moving to the South communicating with each other can still be a trial. So, a crash course in Southern English is in order, and we'll start off with phonics. Class is now in session. Pay attention, there could be a quiz afterward.

1) Far: "Bubba, toss me the Rolaids. Those burritos we had for lunch set my stomach on far!"

2) Wat: "I thought maybe I'd paint the fence wat this year."

3) Haa-why: "Hey, wudda ya say we spend our vacation over to Haa-why."

4) Air-a-plane: "If we go to Haaa-why we'd get to ride in a big ole air-a-plane."

5) Dawg: "My dawg has no legs. Every night after work, I leash him and take him out for a drag."

6) Bade: "Bubba, I won't be to work today. I'm sick in bade."

7) Cain't: "No Bubba, I'm telling you I cain't come in to work because I'm sick."

8) Peels. "Here comes Aunt Bula and the kids. I'd best hurry and take one of those happy peels the doctor prescribed for me."

9) Ha Skule: "I can't wait to see some of the old gang at this year's ha scule reunion.

10) Winder: "Bubba, bet ya I can spit out this here winder farther than you."

Now, another part of southern lingo is the use of colorful expressions. Here's a random sample of some followed by an explanation of their meaning.

"You been a hollerin' sew-ee for a long time now and ain't brought no pigs to trough yet." What people say when I tell them some day "my ship will come in."

"Like the whale said about Jonah, 'I ain't a swallerin' that.'" My teacher's response when I told her my dog ate my homework.

"Don't say the preserves is spoilt 'til ya open the jar." My response to Skunky when he said my plan to skip school without getting caught wouldn't work.

"I'm as frustrated as a pyromaniac in a petrified forest." How I felt most afternoons when I was a teacher.

"I'm as hungry as a woodpecker with a sore beak." My answer when asked if I'm ready to eat.

"I'm feelin' lower than a hog with his chin on the auction block." What I said when I wrecked my truck.

"She's got more curves than a goats' path." How I described my first love to my best friend Skunky Wilson.

And finally, what Uncle Billy Roy Silas said to his wife when she lost a lottery ticket worth several thousand dollars, "I've been with ya when you was high on the hawg; I'll stick with ya whilst yer down around the hocks."

Well, there you have it, lesson number one on how to speak southern. Any questions? If so y'all give me a call, ya hear?

You Know You're Old When...

Lately, aging has been on my mind. I guess it has something to do with the fact that I recently, after a long layoff due to injury, started exercising again. Let me tell you, there's nothing like the morning after that first workout (when rigormortis sets in) to remind you that you're no longer in the prime of your life.

So, after the soreness of that first workout went away, when I could actually move again, I took inventory of myself: grey hair, a bigger gut than I'd like to admit, gelatin for muscles, no wind (except after eating certain foods), a hairline that's saying, "adios," and on and on went the list.

Yet, people have scoffed at me when I've mentioned that old-age is rearing its ugly little head, and that set me to wondering, just how does one know when one is getting old?

After several intense seconds of thought, I think I've found the answer to this nagging question.

You know you're old when. . .

* a hot date consists of eating a certain fruit after it was heated in the microwave

* you quit plucking grey hairs from your head for fear of going bald

* you start doing the "comb-over" to hide your bald spot (after which, when telling you a secret, people whisper in your nose)

* over the years, the waist of your pants has slowly crawled up your torso until they now fit snugly under your pectorals

* your wardrobe consists mainly of clothes made from polyester

* the younger generation thinks Gone With the Wind is a story about a toupee in a tornado

* you realize that obtaining a middle-age-spread has nothing to do with buying a ranch

* the friends that call on you the most are Charley Horse, Ben Gay, and the Itis brothers--Arthur and Bruce

* you spend more money on Milk of Magnesia than you do on milk from the supermarket.

* the joints in your body more accurately predict the weather than the local meteorologist

* life in the fast-lane consists of paying for groceries at the express checkout

* your nose hair needs trimming more often than your scalp hairs

* at bed time you put your hair on a shelf, your eyes in a case, your ears on the dresser, and your teeth in a cup

Yes, age, it is said, is a state of mind. I just wish I could remember what state I left my mind in.