IS AGING REALLY A SIGN OF WISDOM?

 

Some weeks ago, while chewing a bite of apple, I suddenly felt a kind of discomfort in my lower gum. Not a real pain, but prevention is better than cure, and an apple a day doesn't keep the dentist away .

My dentist is a nice and efficient guy, but his surgery is not my number- one hangout.

Yet, as it was Friday, and eveybody knows that raging toothache often occurs at weekends, I made an appointment in emergency.

One hour later, when I came back home and told Dearhubby that the dentist had pulled out a chip of milk tooth abandonned by its siblings  deep inside my jaw ages ago, he exclaimed :

"Hey Perky, you must absolutely post a review about the last anti-aging cream you bought to say it is so efficient that after only two weeks' use  your milk teeth are coming back ! ".

I just rolled my eyes and shrugged my shouders, but before I could say Jack Robinson , he added :

" I'll make some tea. Would you like it in a mug or in a feeding bottle ?

 Come on Perky,I'm joking .Make a nice little smile. Let bygones be bygones."

He was right, after all aging is a sign of wisdom, isn't it? So why on earth did my dentist pull my four of wisdom teeth out?😏

                       

A BLINDING SPRING ALLERGY

 

Every year it is the same old tune : as soon as the first rays of Spring sun try to shine through the windows, my vision gets blurred.

My eyes don't itch  or cry, but it's just as if I was sitting in front of a blurred screen.

Then I know my seasonal allergy is on, and it's high time to stock up sponges, kitchen rolls and bananas.

Yes, guys, sponges, kitchen rolls, and bananas! 

That's the best prescription to cure my self-diagnosed  allergy!

Come on, don't laugh! I haven't gone bananas!

Of course, it is not medically-proven, but it works!

Let me walk you through it.

On the early days of Spring, to nip my WCA syndrom in the bud and get rid of my foggy vision, I just have to grab a sponge, a kitchen roll, and a few hours later, the fog clears up and the sunlight gets brighter.

Still here and there some hazy patches and a few streaks, but nothing compared to the dim light I was living in.

That's when bananas come into play.

What have bananas got to do with my WCA syndrom?

Oops, I have forgotten to tell you that, once I hold my sponge and kitchen roll tight, I need to make a lot of S-shaped movements.

Unfortunately, that kind of indoor workout has side effects on my shoulders, elbows and wrists. That's the only snag of my treatment.

Then, there is no better nutritious and healthy snack than a banana to avoid sore muscles after my exercising.

That's all! Sponge, kitchen roll and bananas, and I get rid of my WCA syndrom.

Oh, sorry, you don't know what WCA stands for?

World Clown Association?

Well, I'd like it, but actually WCA is less fun. 

It is short for Window Cleaning Allergy, a kind of seasonal disorder, which, after brewing on window and glass doors all throughout the dark days of Winter, suddenly flares up on the very first sunny day of Spring.

If you suffer from that damned allergy, also known as the squeegee allergy, I hope this week's tip will help you to beat it!

Give it a go and don't spare elbow grease !

RUNNING WITH MY DOG

 

As couch potatoes, my two dogs are second to none.

Snuggling down in their baskets is their favourite hobby and having a cushy time is their life motto. Actually it has always been the motto of all the dogs I have had.

 

 It must 'run in the family',cause the very first dog we had set the mood immediately.

Jolux was a cheerful, playful and energetic little cocker.

So, one day I thought I could start a running program with him.

We were on holidays in a hilly place in the middle of nowhere and far from the madding crowd, so a good opportunity to work out together.

I leashed him to leave our rental, but once on the quiet path I had spotted before, I let him go free.
When I started jogging, he thought I was playing, so he started jumping , barking and performing all the silly antics he mastered perfectly.

Then, little by little, he calmed down, and trotted behind me, letting out some heavy sighs, cause I didn't leave him any break to read the latest news, I mean, to sniff the blades, the clods, and all his fellows' messages.

Although I was running at the same, steady, moderate pace, half-an-hour later I was in a sweat and not so full of beans.

As for Jolux, I was amazed at his stamina , I could not even hear him panting or even sniffing !

I turned back to congratulate him, but no dog to be seen , even in the far distance !

I called him, I whistled (badly, but I did ), but  no barking reply.

All the way back home, I kept screaming my head off, in vain.

When I arrived near the house, I was out of breath,scared stiff and

panic-stricken.

First thing was to contact the local animal shelters, and then, to comb the neighbourhood again.

I opened the gate of the garden, and was looking for the keys in my bumbag, when I caught sight of Jolux having a nap on the door-mat !

The lady nextdoor came out, and asked me if it was my dog.

When I answered that she was right, the couch potato sprawling over there  and snoring was mine, she uttered a sigh of relief.

She said that he had been lying on the door-mat for three quarters of an hour. 

I looked at my watch and realized that my so-called training partner had taken a French leave and walked back home as soon as he had understood that if running for running's sake was my new craze, it was not his at all!

A PICK-UP AFTER YOUR DOG STORY

 

Some years ago I had a dog named Charlie

 He was a good boy, well-mannered and always eager to please.
Yet, when it came to doing his business, things were rather different.

Every evening before going to bed, I used to take him for a walk, and every evening the same old story.
There was a smart restaurant with a covered terrace down our block, and Charlie seemed to take a special delight in doing his business smack-bang in front of it.
No matter how long we walked,that mischievous guy would block his bowels till he was " in the limelight " of that restaurant!
Was he expecting applause from the customers inside, or, even worse, an encore??

I really don't know. The only thing I know was that every evening I tried to improve my skill and style to pick up Charlie's masterpiece, and to bend like a maestro thanking his audience.Then, I tied the poo bag and, red with shame, I dragged " my artist " into the lobby of our building.

All throughout his life, Charlie played his damned performance every night, except fifteen days off. You know why?
The restaurant was under works!!!
That's when it came to my mind that my naughty dog had been playing his embarrassing trick on purpose. 
But why?
Was it because of the " dogs not admitted " sign on the door of the restaurant? Who knows?

ENGLISH VOCABULARY

 

The very first time I stayed with an English family for a whole month was nothing but a daily ordeal ! Even to ask for some more bread or some salt, I had butterflies in my stomach !! I could not even recognize my voice ! It sounded as if I were hoarse or bleating like a sheep !

To crown it all, the family had a basset and in those days I was scared stiff of dogs.

That "good boy" (as the lady called him) was over the hill and had a nasty temper (due to rheumatism ? My foot !!)

I guess he felt my fear and tried to increase it by growling at me whenever we were in the same room. Even when his "mum" scolded him ("naughty boy" was the worst humiliation), the cheeky four-legged sausage kept humming his war tune at me !

Well, one evening we were having dinner, and while the lady had gone to the kitchen to fetch a jug of water, I started dealing with my veggies...

A lot has been said about English flashy green peas, but not enough about English boiled potatoes ! They are strong-tempered, and cutting them can sometimes turn into a merciless fight.

So, there I was, when suddenly the blade of my knife slipped on the hot potato and sent it straight into the dog's basket. Immediately the growling went off ! For once, with good reason ! Sure, being hit by a boiling hot potato was painful !

But when the lady came back from the kitchen and heard her little devil, she flared up and said that enough was enough, and that he would spend the night in the kennel outside !!

I wanted to explain it was my fault, but I started to go off road in my thoughts, searching for the words. Of course, in vain !

I was faced with a tongue-tied feeling of hopelessness !

I let the alleged culprit be dragged outside, whereas I could have said :

" There is one hot potato in his basket" or " A potato has flown into his basket".

A bit weird, but then I could have drawn in the air the flight of the potato from my plate onto the basket tarmac. It would have saved an innocent 

 The year after, I was nearly charged with first-degree murder on the same four-pawed guy ! No kidding !

To get into his good graces, I had decided to prepare his favourite food bowl and then become his favourite waitress.

Easier said than done ...

I mean, in those days I was already a poor cook, but Dusty was not a finicky guest, and anyway, pouring a dollop of dry pet food into his bowl

was not such a big issue ! 
Unfortunately, once more vocabulary played a trisk on me ...
I confused ' to eat ' and ' to feed ', or to be honest, I knew the noun 
' food ', but didn't know you just had to change double 'o'  into double 
' e ' to turn it into a verb.

So, of course, when I said that that I would eat the dog, everybody

was horrified and so was I !


It took me several years  and several misundertandings and blunders of that kind to realize that building your vocabulary is a ceaseless job, but so exhilarating that it is worth it !



So, whatever the language you are learning, just remember that the more words you know, the easier it will be not to get into a pretty pickle .


That's all for this weeks, folks !

I HATE FITTING-ROOMS!

Fitting-rooms are one of my pet-hate. I hate their merciless mirrors, their deceiving lights, and, above all, their curtains that never close all the way so anybody can see me trying to wriggle into too-tight clothes.

Anyway, last Spring  I wanted to buy a dress and I couldn't avoid a trip to the nearby shop fitting-room.

So, there I was, all in a sweat, fed up and eager to flee that gruesome scene of self-torture.

I slipped clumsily into a pencil dress, and what was to happen happened…

I had forgotten to unzip it properly and it turned into a straight jacket in a wink : my head was half-stuck in the neckline and my arms were trapped in that awful " cigarette case "!

I tried to call for help. In vain! Sure, that dress was good value for money, cause, even though the zip was not that convenient, the fabric was pretty thick and muffled my voice totally!

After useless calls, I decided to shriek.

Bingo! A few seconds later I could feel the shop-assistant's helpful hand zip the dress down!!

Just a glance at myself was enough to crown my misfortune : tousled hair, red cheeks marked by the dress neckline, and my mouth wide open to take my breath back.

What a mortifying sight!

Then, guess what!

I was feeling so grateful to the shop-assistant for helping me to wriggle out of the dress that I bought it, even though it did not fit me like a glove, let alone like a dress.

Now, I guess you understand why I hate fitting-rooms. What about you?

LOOKING FOR A BILINGUAL DOG-SITTER

Believe me or not, in France it is not that easy to find a dog-sitter.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for the rare gem, but just for someone speaking dog fluently, cause I don't want next vacation to turn into an awful car race like last time I hired a dogsitter.

I had found her on a dog-lover website, and as I was going away just for two days, I had not been too demanding.

She was crazy about dogs, she didn't mind hairs and slobber on her clothes, and enjoyed long walks whatever the weather, so what else?

Unfortunately hardly had we reached our destination when she phoned us. She sounded panic-striken and told me that Canaille, our Springer, had been standing motionless for over half-an-hour right in the middle of the kitchen.

He was deaf to any of her sweet words, and even worse, there was some kind of foam around his mouth.

And yet, after his walk, he had eaten and drunk heartily, he had even offered her to play a fetch-the-ball game, and though he had turned out to be a bad loser, they had had a good time.

But, since then, no way to drag him out of the kitchen.

She added that actually he looked as if he had had a paralytic stroke!

Jeez, that was too much for dogaholic parents!

We drove all the way back home, and never had a 100 kilometers journey seemed so long and the speed traps so numerous!

When we arrived home, our throats were dry and our legs like cotton wool. 

And to top it all off, no cheerful barkings to welcome us!

We rushed to the kitchen, and there he was!

Yes, Canaille, our sweetheart, the apple of our eyes, was standing there as impassive as a horseguard at the entrance of Buckingham Palace.

A quick glance around calmed down our hearts…

Paralyzed? No, just on the watch!

Foaming at the mouth? No, just drooling in a kind of Niagara Falls way over the loaf of bread the dogsitter had left on the worktop!

Well, more fear than harm, but if our dogsitter had spoken dog fluently, she would have understood immediately that Canaille was just asking 
 " Could you pass the bread, please? ", and we would not have ruined our weekend.

So now,  either I find a dog-speaking dogsitter, or I create a dictionary. What do you think?