Hazards of Workplace Relationships

Hopefully, for the sake of the world, my second graders will have a better grasp of reading, math, science, and perhaps politics than they do relationships as they grow and mature. In particular, marriage.

Recently, one of my kiddoes asked me if I had a girlfriend. Yes, I replied, I do.

"Really? Who is she?"

"Mrs. Haworth over in the fourth grade hall."

"Another teacher!? I thought you were married! Does your wife know?"

"I hope so. Mrs. Haworth is also my wife."

Ironically, most of my students were in my class last year as well. And, yes, some of these discussions are repeats from the previous year discussions had with the exact same students. Regardless, they're an inquisitive bunch and still pepper me with questions.

"Where did you get that ring Mr. Haworth?"

"Mrs. Haworth gave it to me about 30 years ago."

"Mr. Haworth! Girls don't give boys rings!"

"Sometimes they do. It's a wedding ring. We gave each other rings."

After a brief moment of reflection, she said, "I'm pretty sure you didn't have that ring last year. I don't remember seeing it."

Some other fun questions:

"Do you kiss her at school?"

"Why don't we see her more?"

"Do you ever switch classes?"

"Do you tell her about us?"

And my absolute favorite...

"Does she know?"

"Know what?

"That y'all are married?"

"I sure hope so. We live together and drive to work together."

That seemed to have blown her mind. Perhaps will just stick to the basics -- reading, math, and science.

Marriage Advice

 I had to clean my desk recently. I spent a solid three hours on it. Two more days of work should do the trick.

As I was cleaning it, I threw away 18 bookmarks (aka clothing tags, fishing product tags, etc.), saved two real book marks, found and threw away an old headlamp, and found the cord to the original first iPhone. No worries... I still have that iPhone, too.

Some of the paper scraps included lists, notes, weekly menus, and story ideas. Nestled amongst the story ideas was this little gem. A speech I gave a coworker who was about to get married.

Having been married for approximately 124 years, as my wife is fond of saying, I feel imminently qualified to dispense marriage advice to those seeking to tie the knot. Ahem.. ahem...

Advice for a Happy Couple

ALWAYS check the fridge. If one of you has ADHD, this should be done periodically. It's important. If BOTH of you have ADHD, check it more frequently. Trust me, it's imperative

NEVER begin a conversation with the phrase, "Remember that 'for better or worse' part in our vows?"

SOMETIMES, its' best to just shut up. Seriously, just shut up.

REMEMBER that you don't always have to be right, even when you are right. Please refer back to the "shut up" part listed previously.

DON'T forget to check the fridge and just shut up. Also, set your GPS, unless you're the "infallible directions" one. In that case, remind your partner to set his or her GPS. You know... just in case.

WISHING you both the best of luck! If you haven't tried to kill each other within the first 10 years, the rest is mostly smooth sailing!

WITH love from one very special unnamed coworker.

As of this writing, I'm happy to say, they're still happily married.

Noisy Travel in the Big Apple

Here in North Carolina, we toot our own horns. That's not to be confused with New Yorkers who, quite literally, honk their horns!

Having recently survived numerous bus and Uber rides through various parts of New York City, I've discovered that there seems to be a specific set of rules for horn honking while driving.

The single honk, for the most part, appears to be friendly. "Hi," "I'm behind/near you," "careful," and "don't walk in front of me" are just some translations for this singular sound.

The double honk, however, is a bit less friendly. Loosely translated, the double seems to say "Dummy!" "Move PLEASE!" and "Watch where you're going!" Up to this point, the honks are conversational and display no real cause for alarm.

The triple, however, jumps to the category as a cause for alarm. Certain vocalizations accompany this category of honk. The triple indicates the mounting ire of the driver due to unsavory, unsafe, or unthought out actions of other drivers, traffic, or even pedestrians. It may be a smart idea to have your hand on the door latch for a quick escape.

The last category is the quadruple or one long (five seconds or more) honk. Do not touch the door latch. The best course of action, if there is time, tighten your seatbelt, grab something solid, grab your significant other if you have one with your other hand, close your eyes (most importantly!), and pray. You most likely will survive this, though there is that chance that you won't.

Exaggeration? I think not. I'm a Southerner inside and out. Around this part of the world, we don't honk unless its a real emergency.

If ADD Were a Poem...

 I've reached a self-discovery phase of my life.

The humorous things that I do and that happen to and around me just don't seem quite as humorous as they once did. Don't get me wrong. They are funny, but something inside of  me has turned a corner.

I will continue to write, but, if you'll bear with me, I'm on a new journey to discover myself. I want to answer the important questions... Who am I really? What's important to me? What are my strengths and weaknesses? And why am I not my top priority?

There are a lot (a lot alot!) more questions, but that doesn't make for fun reading.

When I was diagnosed with ADD (it was all ADD 31 years ago) I didn't know what that really meant. I assumed it meant I was broken, flawed, different, and would never fit in or be like anybody else.

I saw a post on a social media platform that asked, "What is ADHD to you? How would you express it? What do you want people to know about how it makes you feel?" That post sparked me to write the following poem. This is my mental definition of ADD. I hope you like it.

The voiceless screamer
   so shrill and so loud
   unheard
   unheeded
And relatively unknown
   as it vies to break out
   to rise above
the mundane mediocrity
of everyone else's egregious
   emergencies
which rain down,
   dripping and drenching
   the unheard
   the unheeded
   and unknown
below

A Tearful Goodbye

 A dear friend, practically a family member, passed today.

I said a lengthy prayer as I delicately placed him into the trash can. The tears welled up, threatening to spill down my cheeks as I reminisced about the good times we shared together.

He was there for the intimate date nights when my wife and I married. He served us well when we added to our family a sweet baby boy. He performed phenomenally for family functions throughout the years, as well as welcoming wonders for neighbors, old and new.

His loyalty never wavered as he created crescendos of wavy, wondrous noodles, enveloped in cheese, sauce, spices and sometimes beef.

Sadly, he met his demise today in the kitchen sink. His life literally came to a crashing end due to my slippery, sardonic hands. I dropped him. 

And now, the only lasagne pan I have ever known, slipped from my life and will be forever missed.

Goodbye old friend!

Wherefore Art Thou, Cold Stone Creamery?

Some years back, a ray of hope came into my life in the form of a Cold Stone Creamery in my town. I saw the words of this amazing institution emblazoned upon the side of the building, glistening for all to see and drool.

Oh how I dreamed of those fluffy, ice creamy concoctions! The masterful way they flop ice cream upon the mixing table and blend it with their selection of healthy add-ins such as chocolate, Butterfinger bars, Oreo cookies, peanut butter, butterscotch, and so on. They also had 'healthier' options such as fruits, nuts, berries, and granola, but I digress.

A problem occurred soon after the sign went up. The problem, known officially as the COVID-19 pandemic, caused any construction or production of CSC, as I sometimes call it, to cease.

The pandemic broke my heart. I was determined, however, to be patient and told my wife that CSC would come through for me. Just wait and see.

The spring following that rough pandemic ushered in cardboard over the insides of the windows. 
"It's coming," I excitedly told my wife. "They put cardboard up to spare us the torture of seeing it slowly put together piece by piece!"
"Don't get your hopes up," she said, a bit too late. "That's not a good sign"

Her prediction proved accurate.

That cruel cardboard stayed firmly put throughout that summer and following fall and winter. Another spring, summer, fall, and winter came and went, leaving bitter disappointment in my mouth instead of a cold, sweet, heavenly treat.

And then the cardboard came down. I believe it was this past spring.

"Honey," I yelled. "It's coming! It's coming! CSC is finally coming!"
"Really," she asked. "How do you know?"
"Because the cardboard finally came down! That means someone MUST be in there doing something to save us from a life devoid of CSC!"
"Ehhhh... That's the problem with tape. It doesn't stick but for so long."
"How can you be so cold and heartless?! The Great Pumpkin... I mean CSC will appear! You just have to believe! Really!"

As of today, Tuesday, July 25, 2023, I'm petitioning the city council to eradicate the offending name off the front of that empty building on North Main Street.

Big Butt? Or Bad Jeans?

A first grade teacher suffered a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions in a second grade classroom earlier today in a North Carolina school. Mr. Haworth, the first grade teacher, split his britches.

A keen eyed second grade teacher, Mrs. Haworth, was victimized when she spotted the offending posterior approximately seven feet in the air at the back wall of her classroom. Apparently, Mr. Haworth had been tasked with the job of hanging several dozen pictures upon the wall.

As of this writing, Mrs. Haworth is recovering from the shock by resting comfortably in a cool, dark room. Though visibly shaken, she seems to have suffered no long term damage and is not responding to further questions.

Mr. Haworth, however, seems to be suffering from a mental breakdown of sorts from the denim failure fiasco.

"I don't know how long they've been like that," Mr. Haworth told Fuzzy, Black Dogs (FBD). "I thought Mrs. Haworth was getting frisky talking about my back side. Then she upped and just walked out of the room.

"Once I discovered the hole, I said to myself, 'it just doesn't get any worse than this'. It got worse... There was a SECOND hole nearly as big as the first! To make a bad situation worse, Mr. Sir Mix-A-Lot started singing in my head...

Note the royal blue spots
which are NOT part
of the jeans!

"Oh, my, God, Becky. Look at his butt.
It's just so out there. I mean, really.
It's fallen out of his pants! Gross!
I mean it's scary looking! Aaacckk!

"I don't like that butt and I cannot lie!
I think your butt's scarred my eyes...

"There was more. That was a bit too much for me."

Our research team at FBD was unable to determine the time the infraction occurred. Between the luncheon restaurant, the small bit of staff at the school, and those at the grocery, approximately 35-40 people have potentially been exposed to this moving visual violation.

"Everybody today has been really super nice to me," Mr. Haworth said. "Until I discovered the holes, I had a really good day."

Here at FBD, we've been told the offending jeans have been properly disposed and replaced, and things have returned to normal.