Five years ago, I went house hunting. I loved a small, dying town about twenty miles from work because I was looking for an old-fashioned town where everyone knows the neighbors or at least a small bit of their neighbor’s business. I grew up in a much bigger town and no one cared about your business, and would seem a bit irritated if you tried sharing any part of your life with them. So, when, you walked down the road, you were always, ‘the stranger’ from down the street or right next-door. The hands on the clocks within bigger towns seem to run much faster making time a horrible burden. I was looking for the slower pace living, which I have found. I have discovered this dying town has been offered many commercial opportunities but families with property hold on to it for millions instead of thousands (I can’t figure that one out). I attribute piety to be at the base of much of the town’s alienation with the dominant hands of the churches holding strong, even after being told selling alcohol would bring life back to the vacant buildings increasing the commercial value of the town. Perhaps commercial progress only speeds up the hands of the clock sucking the personable, timeless life out from this lovely town’s character of ‘hometown’ where even police still walk the streets and know you by name.
The house that I wanted was fifty years old. With a house that old it comes with many problems, and its own unique smell of aged, dried moss. But when I walked into the house I knew, not sure why, but I knew this was the house. And with this house I found a lovely bunch of neighbors. Yes, a pair of kids across the street with a strange sense of values perhaps youth or more so an implanted rebellion brought here from their northeastern area of the country. I love my neighbors dearly, with their nosy antics of watching the activities of the young ones between them and reporting to each other, “did you see that?”, and then calling me to update, since I was at work. Hummph! Even with that, I am still looking forward to retirement.
One of my lovely neighbors, who is very immaculate and yet adores junk. She loves going through warehouses full of stuff that no one wants anymore with her heart and mind wanting to share with everyone she knows. So yesterday, she excitedly calls me over to her house where she had two large boxes of stuff that she had gathered as she wanted to share her goodies with me. Of course, I was glad she thought of me to share her valuables with, but I am in the mode of downsizing and no longer gathering, this seemed to disappoint her quite a bit. But she carefully placed her items back into the boxes where she slowly pulled from and displayed them with excitement as I shook my head no. But I did walk away with a couple of items, two angels to add to my collection of angels, and a novelty book called, “The Absolutely Worst Fart Book.” Which I guess I should have left it with her because there should have been an emphasis put onto the word ‘Worst’. I have always felt a good fart joke lightens any heart since flatulence is a something everyone does and yet ‘some’ try to hide while others advertise. I found myself laughing at only one of the jokes as I will share with you today.
It is titled, ‘The Supermarket Fart’. ‘You fart in an empty aisle and then whip your cart around a corner to escape. The fart kind of hangs there quietly occupying space until someone else comes along. The next shopper innocently rolling down the aisle is met by the mystifying odor which they can’t quite be sure isn’t coming from a food package.’
I hope I shared something today, that was just a bit entertaining, if nothing more than the fart joke. I have a useless book if anyone is interested. Thank you if you hung in this long to finish reading.
5/25/20Recommend0 recommendationsPublished in