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Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those expensive double-pane energy-efficient kind.
Yesterday, I got a call from the contractor who installed them. He was complaining that the windows had been installed a whole year ago and I hadn't paid for them yet.
Hellloooo? Now just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid. So I told him just exactly what his fast-talking sales guy had told ME last year... namely, that in just ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves! Helllooooo"? (I told him). "It's been a year"!
There was only silence at the other end of the line, so I finally just hung up.... He hasn't called back, probably too embarrassed about forgetting the guarantee they made me. Bet he won't underestimate a blonde anymore.
Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those expensive double-pane energy-efficient kind.
Yesterday, I got a call from the contractor who installed them. He was complaining that the windows had been installed a whole year ago and I hadn't paid for them yet.
Hellloooo? Now just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid. So I told him just exactly what his fast-talking sales guy had told ME last year... namely, that in just ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves! Helllooooo"? (I told him). "It's been a year"!
There was only silence at the other end of the line, so I finally just hung up.... He hasn't called back, probably too embarrassed about forgetting the guarantee they made me. Bet he won't underestimate a blonde anymore.
I laughed so hard I started snorting, very ladylike.
We are actually replacing windows on our home will have to copy this for dh.
Not sure how true this is, but it does make an interesting visual...I don't know who wrote this, but he tells it quite visually and it's sure worth a laugh or two...If nothing else gives you a good belly laugh this year this will.
I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect. I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.
It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.
I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes.
His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular...
He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.
Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel.
And losing...
I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.
It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel.
This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH! Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one
of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with
a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.
Torque.
This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in . well .. I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back.
The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike.
This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle...my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it hadlittle effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.
As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort-of.
Spectacularly sort-of ... so to speak.
Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser,dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have.
Really... Except for two things.
First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
So,the cops were not interested in me. The often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.
That was one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car but it was all his.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.
> White Lie Cake
>
>
> Have you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this, especially
> all of the ladies who bake for church events.
>
> Alice Grayson was to bake a cake for the Baptist Church Ladies' Group
> in Tuscaloosa , but forgot to do it until the last minute. She remembered
> it the morning of the bake sale and after rummaging through cabinets,
> found an angel food cake mix and quickly made it while drying her hair,
> dressing, and helping her son pack up for Scout camp.
>
> When Alice took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and
> the cake was horribly disfigured. she said, "Oh dear, there is not time to
> bake another cake."
>
> This cake was important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at
> her new church, and in her new community of friends. So, being inventive,
> she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the
> cake.
>
> Alice found it in the bathroom-a ro! ll of T oilet paper. She plunked it
> in and then covered it with icing. Not only did the finished product look
> beautiful, it looked perfect.
>
> Before she left the house to drop the cake by the church and head for
> work, Alice woke her daughter and gave her some money and specific
> instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened at 9:30 and to
> buy the cake
> and bring it home.
>
> When the daughter arrived at the sale, she found the attractive,
> perfect cake had already been sold. Amanda grabbed her cell phone and
> called
> her mom. Alice was horrified-she was beside herself.
>
> Everyone would know! What would they think? She would be ostracized,
> talked about, ridiculed! All night, Alice lay awake in bed thinking
> about people pointing fingers at her and talking about her behind her
> back.
>
> The next day, Alice promised herself she would try not to think about
> the cake and would attend the fancy luncheon/brida! l showe r at the home
> of a
> fellow church member and try to have a good time. Alice did not
> really want to attend because the hostess was a snob who more than once
> had
> looked down her nose the fact Alice was a single parent and not from the
> founding families of Tuscaloosa , but having already RSVP'd , she couldn't
> think
> of a believable excuse to stay home.
>
> The meal was elegant, the company was definitely upper crust old South
> and to Alice 's horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert!
>
> Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw the cake! She
> started out of her chair to tell the hostess all about it, but before
> she could get to her feet, the Mayor's wife said, "What a beautiful cake!"
>
> Alice still stunned, sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess
> (who was a prominent church member) say, "Thank you, I baked it myself."
>
> Alice smiled and thought to herself, "God is good."
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From my sister-in-law...
