Friday 5 December 2008
Today I wore my little pleated grey wool skirt from HOH, and whilst dressing I kind of got thinking about something that will probably seem really silly to most people-- that is, most people who have never had to wear school-uniform skirts before. I have been corresponding with a nice girl from New Jersey, not far from where we used to live, who goes to a Catholic school and who told me she 'has to' wear boxer shorts under her skirt because of the boys. I didn't get that at first. She explained that when she was younger she used to wear a second set of panties outside the pantihose to help hold them up (we skinny girls will do that) and now that she is bigger and better shaped she still wears boxers, even with winter-warm tights when you don't need them for anything else. Well, I can understand that, for one thing, no one wears slips any more and it is the next best thing-- the skirt will not cling to your bottom. (Sometimes I'd really rather have the slip.) But then as my friend says the boys don't have anything to look up at.
This second point is the one I take exception to. For one thing, if anyone can see up your skirt when you're going up stairs or sitting in a chair, your skirt is too short. That should be the guiding principle. Maybe an attractively short skirt is a good thing, but if it is so short that you have to worry about modesty, then you are being sort of an idiot. Attractiveness should never compromise modesty. In fact I think it could be argued that when a lady compromises her own modesty, she kind of ceases to be a lady, or that the definition of a lady is one who upholds her own dignity whilst still being pretty and appealing to others.
There is another side of it, however. To me, being a woman, even a lady, includes a certain amount of vulnerability. A lady is always physically vulnerable. She is not as strong and is not always as securely dressed as a man, for example. She may not be able to run as fast, or as far. She may not have the arm strength to throw a good punch. The rest of her body may actually get in the way of her ability to really fight back. These things are in the nature of being female. But in all these things is the reason why she is attractive to men. A true gentleman does not seek to compete with a woman-- he seeks to complement her. He is her other side. If she is weak, he is strong. If she is vulnerable, he is her protection. It is not the role of a gentleman to take advantage of a lady's vulnerability. Instead he is supposed to value it. So long as she is protected and respected, she is a lady to him. If he were to reduce her to a common skank, she would be less attractive to him and to any other man. No man really wants a skank. So it is in any man's interests to treat a lady with respect, even with love.
All real gentlemen, of any age, know this. All ladies know it too-- we know what makes a guy a gentleman, and we all know we have to have a certain amount of trust in men in general, all men, for any one man can compromise us. I should say any man can try. A lady's modesty and dignity and reputation is never compromised by anyone but herself. Accidents happen-- a lady's skirt may blow up too high beside the bus, for example. But is that her fault? And should a gentleman take advantage of the rude manners of nature and catch a peek at what's under her skirt? Of course all men might look. But do they consider it an opportunity to learn more about what she would rather not let them know, or do they see it as an accident and think nothing more special about it?
I don't wear the boxer shorts under my skirt. I never did, not even at HOH, or should I say not especially at HOH, since it was a girls'-only school, so who was to care? Now at this big regional public school I still don't. My skirts are fashionably short but not immodestly so. As for cling I use static-guard and all is well. I know how to keep my legs together when seated and how to keep my back straight when ascending stairs. Without sounding conceited let me say that I also know how to have fun, make jokes, laugh out loud, get up and sit down and even move more than that, and I don't compromise my dignity-- and that means that my skirts don't end up being too short. Maybe it is just how I was raised. My mother was a perfect angel with Jessy and me when we were little. In her sweet way she was always teaching us how to sit and stand and say hello-- she used to have us curtsey at the altar and not genuflect, something our stepmother, when she was our nanny, learned from her too. Mommy was always telling us how to be ladies, giving us examples, praising us when we did well, and we were always thrilled when we pleased her. Being so close in age Jessy and I were inseparable-- in some ways we still are-- and we looked out for each other, like at dinners and dances and any events where we had to be at our best. Our parents were never ashamed or hesitant to take us anywhere. As we got older and especially after Mommy died we kept it up just to maintain our family's reputation. So, however crass this may sound, it is part of our obligation to our father, and the memory of our mother, and now to our stepmother too, to turn up on time, look pretty, act properly, and have a good sense of humour about it. I simply would not dream of doing anything else.
The best thing is that teachers, both men and women, most of the girls, and especially all the boys seem to have more respect for a girl who wears a skirt. Daddy likes to say, 'God is in His place and all is right with the world, when young ladies choose to wear skirts and dresses.' It is a position of power and strength, and also of great responsibility. Such is the art of being a young lady.
All right... so today I wore winter-weight tights, navy blue, and my heeled black shoes (not the maryjanes) with the skirt and a plain off-white/cream Shetland sweater. It is not earth-stopping, I know, but it's what I feel comfortable in, both physically and for my reputation. Nothing clung and nothing showed that should not have. Everyone said I looked nice today, all the usual girls and even Sean, Ryan, Jeremy, Paul... and Brett... so I suppose I was doing something right.
...
09 December 2008
04 December 2008
Becky visits Terncote
*** This was from late September or early October but remained in my journal till past its date and is now included here.***
My friend Becky rode home in the car with us after school today. Roger arrived as ever about five minutes after all the buses, including Becky's, had left and opened the door for us. Becky has never seen us leave and didn't expect that we had a personal driver. She sat in the middle with Jessy and me, commenting as you might expect on the car which is not showy or complex in any way, rather like my parents (as I have said before).
At the house-- which she raved over-- we went up to my room and actually did some homework. Becky likes my room-- I'm sure it's unlike the bedroom of any other girl my age in the country, you know, but I like when people say they like it. I love the whole 18th-century thing myself-- my mother got us all interested in historical reenactments of that period, the clothing, the culture, the architecture, the history, and all. And when we moved from the cosy Colonial-reproduction house on the edge of Delaware Bay, the one that fooled people who thought it was really built in the 1740s and not 250 years later (they even asked us to included it on the Colonial house tour!), where I had a lovely, authentic little bedroom furnished by my parents, to this place somewhat larger and more expansive where I got to choose my own bedroom set, I asked for the same Quakerish milk-painted stuff like what's in the house at Lewes. The main differences are in the colours (darker), the size of the room (a little bigger), and that I have a fireplace and my own bathroom. I have no TV, no stereo, nothing modern, only a couple of electric lamps and whatever would have been completely appropriate for a 1720s English manor house occupied by less than Peerage. So I am kind of flattered to think other people my age would actually like such old-fashioned stuff like I like. So I'm not the only one who likes it after all.
It's been getting chilly recently and I lit a fire, just a few of the birch logs that came from a place up the road and the paper and kindling needed to get it going. The sun was almost out and I'd wanted to show her round the place a little, the lawn and the jetty where Jessy and I sun ourselves, but there was a stiff breeze and it wasn't exactly pleasant out there. Becky got up and went into my bathroom and then Lisa came in-- fortunately still in her romper dress from school as these days Lisa can be in anything, or even nothing. She called 'hello' rather politely as she knew I had a guest and then realised my guest was in the bathroom. Then Becky came out with her eyes wide open. I looked up ready to laugh.
'Janine,' she said in an almost-hushed voice, 'your bathroom is... beautiful.'
Lisa giggled. 'It's a bathroom!'
'Yes, but....' Becky looked over Lisa for a moment and then said to me, 'You can sit there and look right out that window and see the ocean. It's... like the bathroom in a fairy-tale castle.' Then she got red. 'Is this your little sister?'
Lisa looked up, sitting on the end of my bed facing us. 'Yes,' I said, 'that's the good little sweetie.' At that she hopped down and came over for a cuddle at my chair. 'And this is Becky from school.'
'Hi Becky,' she said, just as adorably as you can imagine.
'Hi, Lisa!' They both smiled at each other. I think Lisa was impressed that Becky knew who she is... but then all my friends do even if they haven't met her yet. She's kind of a celebrity in our high school for that reason.
For tea we sat in the little parlour in back, where Mother had the doors open till just before we got down there, in spite of the fire there too. Becky sat closest to the French windows and seemed to stare off at the sky above the garden wall while people talked to her. At least once she got caught not even listening. Then she apologised, 'I'm sorry. I've lived on the Eastern Shore all my life, and I've never been able to sit in a house and see the ocean sky like that. It's all around us here, I know that; but to have it so close, and right out your windows....' She looked from Mother to me and at Jessy and Lisa and back to Mother and then me. 'It's just so beautiful here.'
We all smiled at her. 'You can come over any time,' Jessy said, 'till you get sick of the place.'
We all laughed. 'I wouldn't have thought you're sick of this place,' Mother said to her.
Jessy shrugged. Even when she's dressed it's a cute gesture. 'Well, used to it maybe.'
'God,' Becky sighed. 'I could never be used to it!'
We all smiled at her. 'Well,' Mother said to Becky then, 'you'll just have to come over and visit the girls more often.'
Becky looked from her to me with her eyes wide. I nodded happily. 'You might as well,' I said, 'so long as you're willing to get used to us.'
Jessy giggled at that. So did Lisa. Becky only blushed, considering herself highly favoured, although she has no reason to feel that way because she's a perfectly nice friend in her own right... and I am very happy to know her.
Needless to say she stayed for dinner.
...
My friend Becky rode home in the car with us after school today. Roger arrived as ever about five minutes after all the buses, including Becky's, had left and opened the door for us. Becky has never seen us leave and didn't expect that we had a personal driver. She sat in the middle with Jessy and me, commenting as you might expect on the car which is not showy or complex in any way, rather like my parents (as I have said before).
At the house-- which she raved over-- we went up to my room and actually did some homework. Becky likes my room-- I'm sure it's unlike the bedroom of any other girl my age in the country, you know, but I like when people say they like it. I love the whole 18th-century thing myself-- my mother got us all interested in historical reenactments of that period, the clothing, the culture, the architecture, the history, and all. And when we moved from the cosy Colonial-reproduction house on the edge of Delaware Bay, the one that fooled people who thought it was really built in the 1740s and not 250 years later (they even asked us to included it on the Colonial house tour!), where I had a lovely, authentic little bedroom furnished by my parents, to this place somewhat larger and more expansive where I got to choose my own bedroom set, I asked for the same Quakerish milk-painted stuff like what's in the house at Lewes. The main differences are in the colours (darker), the size of the room (a little bigger), and that I have a fireplace and my own bathroom. I have no TV, no stereo, nothing modern, only a couple of electric lamps and whatever would have been completely appropriate for a 1720s English manor house occupied by less than Peerage. So I am kind of flattered to think other people my age would actually like such old-fashioned stuff like I like. So I'm not the only one who likes it after all.
It's been getting chilly recently and I lit a fire, just a few of the birch logs that came from a place up the road and the paper and kindling needed to get it going. The sun was almost out and I'd wanted to show her round the place a little, the lawn and the jetty where Jessy and I sun ourselves, but there was a stiff breeze and it wasn't exactly pleasant out there. Becky got up and went into my bathroom and then Lisa came in-- fortunately still in her romper dress from school as these days Lisa can be in anything, or even nothing. She called 'hello' rather politely as she knew I had a guest and then realised my guest was in the bathroom. Then Becky came out with her eyes wide open. I looked up ready to laugh.
'Janine,' she said in an almost-hushed voice, 'your bathroom is... beautiful.'
Lisa giggled. 'It's a bathroom!'
'Yes, but....' Becky looked over Lisa for a moment and then said to me, 'You can sit there and look right out that window and see the ocean. It's... like the bathroom in a fairy-tale castle.' Then she got red. 'Is this your little sister?'
Lisa looked up, sitting on the end of my bed facing us. 'Yes,' I said, 'that's the good little sweetie.' At that she hopped down and came over for a cuddle at my chair. 'And this is Becky from school.'
'Hi Becky,' she said, just as adorably as you can imagine.
'Hi, Lisa!' They both smiled at each other. I think Lisa was impressed that Becky knew who she is... but then all my friends do even if they haven't met her yet. She's kind of a celebrity in our high school for that reason.
For tea we sat in the little parlour in back, where Mother had the doors open till just before we got down there, in spite of the fire there too. Becky sat closest to the French windows and seemed to stare off at the sky above the garden wall while people talked to her. At least once she got caught not even listening. Then she apologised, 'I'm sorry. I've lived on the Eastern Shore all my life, and I've never been able to sit in a house and see the ocean sky like that. It's all around us here, I know that; but to have it so close, and right out your windows....' She looked from Mother to me and at Jessy and Lisa and back to Mother and then me. 'It's just so beautiful here.'
We all smiled at her. 'You can come over any time,' Jessy said, 'till you get sick of the place.'
We all laughed. 'I wouldn't have thought you're sick of this place,' Mother said to her.
Jessy shrugged. Even when she's dressed it's a cute gesture. 'Well, used to it maybe.'
'God,' Becky sighed. 'I could never be used to it!'
We all smiled at her. 'Well,' Mother said to Becky then, 'you'll just have to come over and visit the girls more often.'
Becky looked from her to me with her eyes wide. I nodded happily. 'You might as well,' I said, 'so long as you're willing to get used to us.'
Jessy giggled at that. So did Lisa. Becky only blushed, considering herself highly favoured, although she has no reason to feel that way because she's a perfectly nice friend in her own right... and I am very happy to know her.
Needless to say she stayed for dinner.
...
A very pressing problem
*** This is from a weekday morning in October but remained in my journal till past its date and is now included here. ***
I was in my bathroom patting on makeup when Jessy came in, on the excuse of looking for some thing or another out of my cupboard. ''Hey,' she said, leaning past me and swiped up the eyeliner.
'You need to get your own of that stuff,' I said.
'When do I ever go out?' She stopped behind me in the doorway and seemed to watch me go on. I certainly wasn't watching what she was doing and for a short moment believed she had gone out. Then she asked, 'How was your night?'
I shrugged. 'How is any night?' This is how we tease each other, turning questions back on each other. It's half in fun and half to practise what Daddy calls 'practical sarcasm'.
'I don't know....' She seemed unsure of what to say next. 'Did I hear your bed moving last night?'
My first reaction, which I wish I had not had, was to blush. 'Did you?'
And of course she saw my blush. 'Janine....' She giggled. 'Was it really that--?'
'Oh, like I'm going to tell you that!' I turned and waved her away like a bug. 'You've never--?'
'Oh, all the time,' she said simply. 'But I didn't know your bed squeaked that much. You must have been--'
'GO,' I said strongly, and she giggled more and went out. I turned back to the mirror but by now was so red that I'd have to wait to apply more stuff. The bed is pretty strong-- nearly brand-new from the custom woodworking shop and though it's made traditionally, with joints that are not glued so they can come apart for the thing to be moved, I have a regular box-spring and mattress on the ropes. I always thought it was pretty solid and quiet. I can only imagine what Jessy was doing up at about 2.30 in the morning when I was solving a very pressing problem in the sanctuary of my own bed.
Should I now start sleeping with the gallery door closed? And what would be the point? We've never hid from each other the fact that we both do it. We've each even done it in front of the other before. It's natural and normal. I guess I just don't care for being evaluated on the intensity of my--
Oh, I'd better not finish that thought!
...
I was in my bathroom patting on makeup when Jessy came in, on the excuse of looking for some thing or another out of my cupboard. ''Hey,' she said, leaning past me and swiped up the eyeliner.
'You need to get your own of that stuff,' I said.
'When do I ever go out?' She stopped behind me in the doorway and seemed to watch me go on. I certainly wasn't watching what she was doing and for a short moment believed she had gone out. Then she asked, 'How was your night?'
I shrugged. 'How is any night?' This is how we tease each other, turning questions back on each other. It's half in fun and half to practise what Daddy calls 'practical sarcasm'.
'I don't know....' She seemed unsure of what to say next. 'Did I hear your bed moving last night?'
My first reaction, which I wish I had not had, was to blush. 'Did you?'
And of course she saw my blush. 'Janine....' She giggled. 'Was it really that--?'
'Oh, like I'm going to tell you that!' I turned and waved her away like a bug. 'You've never--?'
'Oh, all the time,' she said simply. 'But I didn't know your bed squeaked that much. You must have been--'
'GO,' I said strongly, and she giggled more and went out. I turned back to the mirror but by now was so red that I'd have to wait to apply more stuff. The bed is pretty strong-- nearly brand-new from the custom woodworking shop and though it's made traditionally, with joints that are not glued so they can come apart for the thing to be moved, I have a regular box-spring and mattress on the ropes. I always thought it was pretty solid and quiet. I can only imagine what Jessy was doing up at about 2.30 in the morning when I was solving a very pressing problem in the sanctuary of my own bed.
Should I now start sleeping with the gallery door closed? And what would be the point? We've never hid from each other the fact that we both do it. We've each even done it in front of the other before. It's natural and normal. I guess I just don't care for being evaluated on the intensity of my--
Oh, I'd better not finish that thought!
...
Sharing the bed
*** This was from a Friday in October but remained in my journal past its date and is now included here. ***
I can never sleep much more than six hours in a night without waking up with a headache. Fortunately my body knows this and I will wake up before the headache comes on. I usually get the headache only if I've been sick and unable to get up automatically, or if I choose to roll over and go back to sleep when I know I shouldn't, which has happened more often than I care to admit.
Last night I went to bed too early, partly due to eye strain as I have been reading this book about a guy who sailed round the world (a true story) whenever I am not doing something school-related or with the family. I managed to shuffle in to the bathroom and brush my teeth and then I got out of everything and got into bed properly. It has been chilly most nights, but last night there was an ominous-looking fog and it stayed warm, so that my fire was almost unnecessary. I just happen to like how it smells, making the room seem cosy.
There was thunder in the night, an odd thing this time of year. Somewhere out over the ocean a front was rolling in. Once I turned over in bed and pulled the covers up round my back. I was not cold but felt insecure. Another time I rolled back the other way and came face-to-face with another pair of eyes.
'Janine,' she said in an urgent whisper.
My eyes opened wide. Little Lisa (five) in her old-fashioned flannel nightdress hovered uneasily at the edge of my bed, half shivering either from cold or the fear of the storm. Thunder rolled out on the ocean and she quaked on her feet. At once I parted the comforter, blanket and sheet away from the side of the bed and she scampered in.
I know most big sisters would not do this. I was naked-- which is always weird when you have to have someone else under the same covers, although I have done it before with each of my sisters. But little Lisa looks up to me, almost like a second mother, and it is flattering for her to ask me to shelter her from whatever scares her. It's as though God is calling, 'Janine! You have work to do.' The other thing is that Mother and Daddy's door is about 45 feet down the gallery and across the mezzanine from Lisa's door and that's a long way to walk in the dark when you're five and scared. It is an easy thing for me to admit her into my bed. And the other thing is that she is warm, a soft, fuzzy flannel lump to snuggle up behind.
I shifted backwards, to give her one of the pillows, and closed the covers over her. Lisa settled right down, for a moment tensing again as more thunder rumbled, and I wrapped my arm over her and pulled us closer together. She sighed. She would be safe and sound now.
Lisa usually gets up before either Jessy or I-- most little kids do. But I had had that extra sleep too early at night and awoke the moment she stirred. For a few moments we denied to let the other know we were awake, and then she rolled onto her back and stared up at the muslin canopy of my bed. Then, almost as though she could not believe where she was, she turned and looked at me, with our faces about six inches apart. 'Hi,' she said.
I smiled at her. 'Did you sleep all right?'
She nodded eagerly. 'Did you?' I nodded too, like she had, and she smiled again. 'Is Mother going to make waffles?'
It was Saturday. I felt like I'd slept three nights together. 'I don't know,' I said. 'Want to check?'
She nodded like that again and started to sit up. I peeled the covers back about halfway and let her out of the bed. She put her feet down and then stopped, like she had thought of something else, and then turned round and leaned way in to kiss my head. 'I'm sorry I came into your bed,' she said.
I smiled at her. 'It's all right. I'm sorry you didn't like the thunder.'
She shrugged, like that embarrassed her. Then she said what she'd really wanted to say. 'You're a good big sister.'
'Awww.... And you're a terrific little sister.' Then I squirmed over to that side of the bed and we hugged. 'I love you, sweetie.'
'I love you too, sweetie.' We both giggled at that. She has never called me 'sweetie' before-- Mother calls all of us that but Jessy and I tend to reserve that for Lisa or each other.
'Now go down and find out if there are waffles. I think I will put something on first.'
Lisa giggled again. 'Aren't you chilly?'
I snatched back all the covers and pulled them up to my neck, dramatically. 'Not any more.'
She giggled again, wholeheartedly, and then scurried out to the bathroom in the gallery.
...
I can never sleep much more than six hours in a night without waking up with a headache. Fortunately my body knows this and I will wake up before the headache comes on. I usually get the headache only if I've been sick and unable to get up automatically, or if I choose to roll over and go back to sleep when I know I shouldn't, which has happened more often than I care to admit.
Last night I went to bed too early, partly due to eye strain as I have been reading this book about a guy who sailed round the world (a true story) whenever I am not doing something school-related or with the family. I managed to shuffle in to the bathroom and brush my teeth and then I got out of everything and got into bed properly. It has been chilly most nights, but last night there was an ominous-looking fog and it stayed warm, so that my fire was almost unnecessary. I just happen to like how it smells, making the room seem cosy.
There was thunder in the night, an odd thing this time of year. Somewhere out over the ocean a front was rolling in. Once I turned over in bed and pulled the covers up round my back. I was not cold but felt insecure. Another time I rolled back the other way and came face-to-face with another pair of eyes.
'Janine,' she said in an urgent whisper.
My eyes opened wide. Little Lisa (five) in her old-fashioned flannel nightdress hovered uneasily at the edge of my bed, half shivering either from cold or the fear of the storm. Thunder rolled out on the ocean and she quaked on her feet. At once I parted the comforter, blanket and sheet away from the side of the bed and she scampered in.
I know most big sisters would not do this. I was naked-- which is always weird when you have to have someone else under the same covers, although I have done it before with each of my sisters. But little Lisa looks up to me, almost like a second mother, and it is flattering for her to ask me to shelter her from whatever scares her. It's as though God is calling, 'Janine! You have work to do.' The other thing is that Mother and Daddy's door is about 45 feet down the gallery and across the mezzanine from Lisa's door and that's a long way to walk in the dark when you're five and scared. It is an easy thing for me to admit her into my bed. And the other thing is that she is warm, a soft, fuzzy flannel lump to snuggle up behind.
I shifted backwards, to give her one of the pillows, and closed the covers over her. Lisa settled right down, for a moment tensing again as more thunder rumbled, and I wrapped my arm over her and pulled us closer together. She sighed. She would be safe and sound now.
Lisa usually gets up before either Jessy or I-- most little kids do. But I had had that extra sleep too early at night and awoke the moment she stirred. For a few moments we denied to let the other know we were awake, and then she rolled onto her back and stared up at the muslin canopy of my bed. Then, almost as though she could not believe where she was, she turned and looked at me, with our faces about six inches apart. 'Hi,' she said.
I smiled at her. 'Did you sleep all right?'
She nodded eagerly. 'Did you?' I nodded too, like she had, and she smiled again. 'Is Mother going to make waffles?'
It was Saturday. I felt like I'd slept three nights together. 'I don't know,' I said. 'Want to check?'
She nodded like that again and started to sit up. I peeled the covers back about halfway and let her out of the bed. She put her feet down and then stopped, like she had thought of something else, and then turned round and leaned way in to kiss my head. 'I'm sorry I came into your bed,' she said.
I smiled at her. 'It's all right. I'm sorry you didn't like the thunder.'
She shrugged, like that embarrassed her. Then she said what she'd really wanted to say. 'You're a good big sister.'
'Awww.... And you're a terrific little sister.' Then I squirmed over to that side of the bed and we hugged. 'I love you, sweetie.'
'I love you too, sweetie.' We both giggled at that. She has never called me 'sweetie' before-- Mother calls all of us that but Jessy and I tend to reserve that for Lisa or each other.
'Now go down and find out if there are waffles. I think I will put something on first.'
Lisa giggled again. 'Aren't you chilly?'
I snatched back all the covers and pulled them up to my neck, dramatically. 'Not any more.'
She giggled again, wholeheartedly, and then scurried out to the bathroom in the gallery.
...
Daddy over dinner
*** This is from October but remained in my journal till past its date and is now included here. ***
My Daddy has the silliest sense of humour in the world. He is not really cynical or disrespectful, but he has the kind of wit that can see something funny in almost everything, even the most serious situations. One of his favourite things is to mock road signs along the side of the road. The other day he came home saying he has seen a sign up on Route 13 somewhere: FREE HORSE MANURE.
Naturally we all laughed at that-- over dinner, even little Lisa after she was told what horse manure was-- by Mother of course, who then tried to come up with perfectly sensible reasons why anyone on the Eastern Shore might actually WANT 'horse poopies', as Lisa called it. Little J.J. got it immediately and actually asked how they collect it. 'Do they put a diaper on the horse?' he asked.
We all went on laughing as Daddy went off on just about every possible application of it--
- 'Free? Free? Do you mean the guy down the block is charging a dollar a pound?
- 'Well of course it should be free. Set it free! Freedom for all horse manure!
- 'Do you think I need MORE of it? I get horse manure just walking outside! I'm constantly getting it from everyone all day!
- 'And what would be the procedure here? You would go up to the door, and ask him, "Hello, you're giving away horse manure? Can I have about seventy pounds, please?" And would he shovel it for you, or would you have to shovel your own? And do you have to bring your own shovel? What would people say if they saw the shovel in the back of your car? "Oh, that's just for the horse manure."'
- 'What if a cop stopped you on the way home? "What's that you've got there?" "Oh, this truck is just full of horse manure."'
- 'And when you got home, what would you say? "Honey, I'm home! And I've got the horse manure! Where do you want it?"'
Needless to say we were all giggling like idiots... except Mother of course who tried to giggle intelligently while pretending to disapprove of the topic at the table.
This is not out of the ordinary for Daddy at all. On any trip, or when he comes home from having been on the road somewhere, he will comment on nonsensical road signs along the way. Some of his favourites are:
Sign: FIRE HOUSE
Daddy: 'Yes, absolutely, fire him. House is the worst town councilman we've ever had!'
Sign: SLOW CHILDREN
Daddy: 'That's not fair, making fun of them like that. They can't help having a learning disability.'
Sign: WATCH CHILDREN
Daddy: 'Do they do tricks?'
Sign: DEAF CHILD IN AREA
Daddy: 'Why is that there? He won't hear us if we honk.'
Sign: CHURCH
Daddy: 'What is that, a suggestion for travellers who are bored of every other topic of conversation? -"Well, what do you think of church?" -"Well, I suppose it serves a necessary function in society...."'
Sign: ROAD MAY BE SLIPPERY
Daddy: 'Well is it, or not? That sign gives no information.'
Sign: BRIDGE FREEZES BEFORE ROAD SURFACE
Daddy: 'Was that a contest? Subtitle: ROAD SURFACE VOWS TO TRY HARDER NEXT SEASON.'
Sign: MEN WORKING
Daddy: 'Why is it always only ONE man, and the rest just standing around with Thermos bottles? It should say "MAN working".'
And his all-time favourite:
Sign: WORKERS IN TREES
Daddy: 'Let me get this straight. Grown adults, climbing in trees like little kids, and getting paid. I think I want that job.'
...
My Daddy has the silliest sense of humour in the world. He is not really cynical or disrespectful, but he has the kind of wit that can see something funny in almost everything, even the most serious situations. One of his favourite things is to mock road signs along the side of the road. The other day he came home saying he has seen a sign up on Route 13 somewhere: FREE HORSE MANURE.
Naturally we all laughed at that-- over dinner, even little Lisa after she was told what horse manure was-- by Mother of course, who then tried to come up with perfectly sensible reasons why anyone on the Eastern Shore might actually WANT 'horse poopies', as Lisa called it. Little J.J. got it immediately and actually asked how they collect it. 'Do they put a diaper on the horse?' he asked.
We all went on laughing as Daddy went off on just about every possible application of it--
- 'Free? Free? Do you mean the guy down the block is charging a dollar a pound?
- 'Well of course it should be free. Set it free! Freedom for all horse manure!
- 'Do you think I need MORE of it? I get horse manure just walking outside! I'm constantly getting it from everyone all day!
- 'And what would be the procedure here? You would go up to the door, and ask him, "Hello, you're giving away horse manure? Can I have about seventy pounds, please?" And would he shovel it for you, or would you have to shovel your own? And do you have to bring your own shovel? What would people say if they saw the shovel in the back of your car? "Oh, that's just for the horse manure."'
- 'What if a cop stopped you on the way home? "What's that you've got there?" "Oh, this truck is just full of horse manure."'
- 'And when you got home, what would you say? "Honey, I'm home! And I've got the horse manure! Where do you want it?"'
Needless to say we were all giggling like idiots... except Mother of course who tried to giggle intelligently while pretending to disapprove of the topic at the table.
This is not out of the ordinary for Daddy at all. On any trip, or when he comes home from having been on the road somewhere, he will comment on nonsensical road signs along the way. Some of his favourites are:
Sign: FIRE HOUSE
Daddy: 'Yes, absolutely, fire him. House is the worst town councilman we've ever had!'
Sign: SLOW CHILDREN
Daddy: 'That's not fair, making fun of them like that. They can't help having a learning disability.'
Sign: WATCH CHILDREN
Daddy: 'Do they do tricks?'
Sign: DEAF CHILD IN AREA
Daddy: 'Why is that there? He won't hear us if we honk.'
Sign: CHURCH
Daddy: 'What is that, a suggestion for travellers who are bored of every other topic of conversation? -"Well, what do you think of church?" -"Well, I suppose it serves a necessary function in society...."'
Sign: ROAD MAY BE SLIPPERY
Daddy: 'Well is it, or not? That sign gives no information.'
Sign: BRIDGE FREEZES BEFORE ROAD SURFACE
Daddy: 'Was that a contest? Subtitle: ROAD SURFACE VOWS TO TRY HARDER NEXT SEASON.'
Sign: MEN WORKING
Daddy: 'Why is it always only ONE man, and the rest just standing around with Thermos bottles? It should say "MAN working".'
And his all-time favourite:
Sign: WORKERS IN TREES
Daddy: 'Let me get this straight. Grown adults, climbing in trees like little kids, and getting paid. I think I want that job.'
...
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