Goodbye 2025 (don’t let the door hit you on the way out)

Christmas 2025 is over. But this tree still has a few good years left.

The year 2025 began–well, I can’t recall how the year began—it now seems too long ago. Let’s just say, the year began sometime in January. I remember almost nothing about the month except two things. A sad memorial for my brother, who brought so much joy to me during his life. And a day of celebrating Jerry’s birthday at Olive Garden. “Would you like more soup?” a server asked. Oh, no thank you, I say politely. “Oh, but it’s endless, I’ll bring you more, and more, and how about more breadsticks?” I recall not feeling well after we left.

But what are my thoughts about the past year? It’s this. The year blew by so fast I can hardly remember anything about it. However, some things stand out in my mind like snapshots against a black, murky background. The new alarm clock comes to mind. It wakes me with birdsong. The clock was a game changer. Instead of the foghorn blast—arrrhhggghhhah—of my old alarm clock, I now wake to the sweet sound of birds singing. Instead of the alarm jolting me out of bed with my teeth rattling and brandishing a sword like a medieval warrior woman, the new alarm wakes me with a soothing gentleness. It’s so soothing I drift back to sleep. This has caused a slight problem with tardiness. But on the positive, I no longer bolt out of bed and holler while hoisting a sword in the air, “Don’t even think about talking to me!”

I have other snapshots of the year 2025 in my memory. Here’s a condensed version.

—Waiting for my name, or Jerry’s name, to be called in doctor office lobbies and hearing every other person’s name but ours; staring at the artwork in doctor’s offices while waiting and pointing to one, saying to Jerry, “You could do so much better than that.” Jerry nods the affirmative like, of course; staring also at the artwork at dental hygiene appointments (a giant green tooth reminding patients of what could happen without their service) and a giant E, the size of a toaster, projected on the wall while trying to focus on eye exams, “Is that an E? I think it’s an E.”; listening impatiently to jazzy music while on hold in the attempt to make further appointments for the aforementioned doctors, “…your call is so important to us...”; singing happy birthday at quite a few birthday parties–except at one party where the birthday child has a rule that no attendees utter the birthday song when the candles are lit and who started to cry when two people sang anyway (well, they weren’t informed of the rule); the lovely engagement party where no one was asked not to sing but were probably welcome to belt out an Italian opera if they wanted; then the news reports came of horrible events from shootings to floods to fires; the trips came with the most delicious pumpkin cheesecake ever made at the Storyteller Café in the Grand Californian Hotel; And walking, walking, walking, standing, standing, standing and crawling, crawling, collapsing at Disneyland; watching the Disney fireworks in pajamas outside our hotel room; running through the surf at the beach; learning of criminal activities when finding a moonstone glistening in the beach sand; As I put it in my pocket, Jerry warned of my potential arrest, “It’s illegal to remove anything from the beach”; enjoying our anniversary lunch next to a picturesque, burbling creek in Sedona; and the unexpected horrors of 2025, such as undergoing a near death experience after a scorpion’s sting electrocuted me with searing pain; Rather than a vision of a bright light at the end of the tunnel, I beheld the sight of a Swiffer duster box where the evil creature had been lurking; Another vision followed of a very squashed and mangled scorpion at the hands of Jerry; the sudden rise of a phobia about dusting–please don’t ever show me a Swiffer box as you may send me into mental stress; and–not to forget– the two minor surgeries, which the anesthesia made me forget. I only remember the nurse saying, “let’s roll” as she wheeled me into surgery.

The bottom line—life is on a roll. We have ups and downs and lots of “have-to’s in between. Life doesn’t stop for us. “Uh, excuse me, would you please slow down a little?” “No!” life barks back. “Get used to it.”

Life keeps moving and 2025 has zipped on by.

Here today—which was yesterday– and gone tomorrow—which is today.

January, 2026, has arrived and Jerry’s birthday is coming up again. So far, he hasn’t mentioned Olive Garden.

May the New Year be a blessing to you.

BW ♥

“Only one life, ’twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last.”

C.T. Studd, British missionary and All-England cricket star, 1860-1931. He served in China, India, and Africa.

Seven Marketing Tricks That Need To End

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1. So Rich You Look Poor

Who thought to take a pair of jeans, rip gaping holes at the knees with lots of dangling threads and sell the jeans at ridiculous prices? Celebrities, the very rich ones, like to be seen wearing jeans with raggedy holes. I remember a time when people who wore jeans with holes carried tin cups and asked us if we could spare some change. Not anymore. You need to be quite wealthy to wear jeans with ripped holes in the knees. Don’t think you can gash holes in your Kirkland jeans from Costco. You have to have a designer label and have paid well over one-hundred dollars for your holey jeans to be authentic.

This woman is very rich.

2. Store Discount Cards Save Money

You’re at a self-checkout stand at the grocery store trying to figure out which picture on the screen matches the grocery item. The lady next to you, also self-checking, asks, “Do you have the discount card? I don’t shop here very often, hardly ever really, and I wondered if you had a discount card so I could scan it.” You scan your discount card on her checkout screen. She excitedly says, “Thanks! I just saved two dollars.” The card allows you to pay for some items at their actual cost while providing you a happy feeling of saving. The lady next to you smiles gratefully as she leaves the store. You notice she is wearing designer jeans with holes.

3. Charge for Grocery Store Plastic Bags

The cashier asks, “Do you want a bag?” If your answer is yes, you’re charged ten cents a bag. But you have to save money somewhere, so you say, “No, I’ll carry them to my car.” You pay for your groceries and pick up your items. You move carefully out the door holding an armload of groceries with your chin keeping everything in place. Bananas rest on your head and a jar of peanut butter rolls as you shove it with your foot, hollering, “Coming through!” What’s next? A seventy-five-cent charge for the use of the floor space next to the checkout stand? “Do you want floor space?” the cashier asks you. “Otherwise, I need to ask you to step outside. And if you want me to bring your groceries to you, that will be a five-dollar charge.”

The proper way to wear bananas on your head.

5. Tipping At Fast-Food Takeout

You’re at an Asia takeout place giving your order to the cashier. The cashier then flips her computer screen around to face you, so you can add in the tip. The screen offers choices with 18% being the lowest. Then 20%, 25% and 75%. You wonder what tip to give when you haven’t yet seen your completed order. The cashier shoots threatening glares your way. You think possibly she, or the cook, might do something unpleasant to your food if you don’t leave a nice tip. You add in a 75% tip and end up paying $52 for a cup of rice noodles with bean sprouts and tofu. The chili garlic sauce on the side wasn’t provided as promised. You had to ask for chopsticks. The noodles were only half-cooked. No wonder the tip is demanded before the food is prepared.

6. Companies Asking for Online Feedback

Your roof becomes a vacation destination for birds. They gather by the hundreds roosting and nesting and sunning themselves all day. They play bocce ball at 3 a.m. on your roof and they cackle and coo and keep you awake. You call an avian control company to set up a deterrence. Someone from the company comes out to your house to give you a “free” estimate to bird-proof your roof. He politely explains he will take pictures of the roof and send an email of the projected cost later that day. The email with the estimated cost arrives. You also get a request to rate your service in a short “five-second” survey. You give the guy from avian control five stars. The online survey then asks you how much of a tip you want to bestow on the five-star person who came out to photograph your roof? The survey also asks you to jot a few nice words about your service and post to Google. It asks for your Google password and waits for the tip. You don’t know your password, the five-seconds is over, and you have no nice words left in you.

7. What’s “In” And What’s “Out”

The fashion industry brainstormed incentives to make people buy new clothes when they don’t need new clothes. Someone had a brilliant thought. “Why don’t we shame them into buying?” Announcers on TV and online got the plan of shame going. You hear them say, “Barbie Pink is out. Butter Soft Yellow is in. If you have Skinny Jeans in your closet, pleeeze get rid of them. They are sooo yesterday. Jeans with a slight flare in the leg are in.” The shame plan tells you that anyone who is no one, and no one who wants to look like someone, must have new clothes to be like everyone. The fashion industry happily collects the profits from their winning scheme. Whatever they announce is the style of the day, people –especially celebrities who get paid–go along. If the fashion industry announced that hemorrhoids are “in”–we’d be looking at jeans with thick padding in the seat and hats in the shape of hemorrhoids. “Do you have hemorrhoids? Oh, I wish I did too!”

Bronwyn’s Thought for the Day: Be you. If you like jeans with holes, wear them. If you like skinny jeans, wear those. What other people think of you is not important. Make some tea, sit in your garden, and enjoy knowing you saved by hauling your groceries to your car without a bag. ♥

Words Have Power (for better or worse)

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Don’t Say Words That Start With P

As a young child, I made a rule for my mom to follow.

Whenever I heard Mom say words beginning with the letter P, I clapped my hands over my ears. I then stated my rule in my best displeased voice, “Mom, don’t say words that start with the letter P.”

I made this rule due to the way Mom pronounced P-words. She didn’t just say “potato.” She said “PUH-tay-toe” with the PUH-sound having strong emphasis. She said other P-words with similar intensity like PIH-ckle and POHP-corn and PEE-aches. This didn’t settle well with my ears.

In my young mind, she could blow out the glass in our windows with one extra loud shout of “Mr. PUH-tato HEAD!”

If you go to the zoo, you will hear animal sounds like honking, bleating, chattering, trumpeting, roaring, screaming. These sounds aren’t annoying to anyone. We think they’re cute when animals make loud, obnoxious sounds. It’s people we don’t want to hear.

I didn’t understand why Mom didn’t take my rule seriously. She continued to offend me by speaking in P-words. “Is that your Silly PUHT-ty smashed on the rug?” “Time to PUT the PUH-lay Doh away.” “Tonight, we’re having my PEESE-de résistance, PORRR-cupine meatballs.”

I admit. She may have not used the word pièce de résistance. I was only seven. I had a vast vocabulary at that age but that word probably was not in it.

I recently mentioned this childhood memory to Jerry. He shared his own memory of irritating sound from his past. A girl he once knew spoke in hissing sounds whenever she said words beginning with S like sss-soup and sss-silly and sss-spicy ssss-spaghetti.

In addition to the sounds of words, entire words repeated over and over can also annoy. I knew someone long ago who had the tiresome habit of saying “ya know” after every sentence. She said things like, “Boil the eggs, ya know. A pinch of paprika and a dab of mustard, ya know. A touch of Dijon, ya know.” I found myself drifting off, not even listening to what she was actually saying. Instead, I braced for the next, “ya know.” Oh no…here comes another “ya know.” I wanted to shout, “YA KNOW, I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. I NEVER WANT TO KNOW.” But that might have seemed rude. Thankfully, she moved away and started saying “ya know” to her new neighbors in another area of the world.

I DON’T KNOW, YA KNOW, YA KNOW.

Other than Mom saying P-words, I loved everything else about her. She made the best cookies and birthday cakes; was like a star on her women’s softball team; and took a seasonal position every Christmas at the post office so she could buy my sister and me a ton of presents.

Mom slaved at the post office every Christmas so she could buy my sister and me a ton of presents.

Just so you know, there are words I love the sound of. Like words that begin with T. Texas, Tintinnabulation, Timbuktu, Tinkerbell, terrible twos, tea for two, and too-too-cute tutu. Plus, I named my son a name that starts with T. I would tell you his name, but I can’t for my security purposes.

Truthfully, I don’t like hearing the sound of P words even to this day. I really have to grit my teeth when someone says pumpernickel, or Peabody Awards, or Peppa Pig. And don’t get me started on protractors and paragons and parallelograms.

I didn’t like geometry, and I didn’t care for my geometry teacher always calling me “Brow-nin.” I would say to her, “It’s Bronwyn.” The next day, sure enough, she called me “Brow-nin.”

Let’s forget about geometry, and the handwritten letter threatening a bad grade if I didn’t improve. Well, hah! I transferred to a new school before the teacher’s threat could be executed. Life has a way of working out for the better.

The point is–there are certain sounds many of us don’t like to hear. Most of us don’t like hearing our name butchered on a constant basis. I give a little leeway to people who don’t know how to pronounce a name at first, but after being told and they continue…well, the leeway ends.

Just recently, today actually, I read about misophonia. This is a condition defined by common sounds that cause an atypical emotional response in the affected person.

Most common sounds to illicit a response in the person with misophonia are eating-related sounds like lip-smacking, loud breathing or nose sounds, and typing on a keyboard or pen-clicking sounds. I’m sure the sound of words beginning with P is somewhere on the list of triggers. Not to mention the sound of someone sneezing forty-eight times in a row. I will say “God bless you” maybe the first three times, but then you’re on your own after that.

Old-school way of trying to block out annoying sounds.

The constant grating cough, such as I had to endure yesterday while in an antique shop, is more than irritating. While I calmly gazed at the display of 1950s metal lunch boxes with pictures of Roy Rogers and Trigger, I suddenly heard, “cough, hack, hacccchk–ckkk.” The coughing came from another shopper like me. I felt bad for her for the first five coughs and then she just coughed and coughed and heaved and wheezed. I hurriedly left the antique lunch box room and headed for the antique toy room. While noticing toys from the 80s are now antiques, (really?) I could still hear the woman coughing in the other room. I’m sure now I will have some kind of illness any day now due to her hacking cough germs wafting throughout the shop.

Now, here’s the great part about people with misophonia. We are real-world creative achievers. We’re like geniuses. So, keep that in mind when you’re smacking and popping gum and cracking knuckles around us. Yes, we’re clenching our jaw and glaring at you and we’re not too happy. But, at the same time, we’re planning our next great creative achievement in our genius head.

The answer in dealing with misophonia came to me from an Instagram post. How convenient that was! Since I’m dealing with this condition I just learned about, a lady appeared on Instagram and announced she has ADHD and misophonia. She explained what helps her to get through her day. I wondered what her solution could be since both conditions can be rough for anyone. She said, she wears noise-canceling ear buds.

There you have it, the true secret to happiness.

Thank goodness for informative posts on Instagram.

Get ready. The popping sound is just a second away.

Is that someone popping their gum?

I know what to do. Ahhh. Can’t hear a thing now.

♥βω

A River Runs Through It (on my birthday)

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“Jerry! Don’t do it!”

“Why not? I can make it. It’s not a problem.”

Jerry stopped our GMC Terrain and we sat in our car watching the melting snow flood the road ahead like a raging river. The runoff raced over the road, obstructing our path, then disappearing into a precipitous drop toward the swelling creek below. We didn’t see shortcuts or detours. If we wanted to continue on, we had to drive through the river. I, for one, did not want to travel through the top of a waterfall. One misstep and our car would be tumbling downward.

We had booked a cabin in Oak Creek Canyon at one of the resorts set in a breathtaking gorge and forest about five miles north of Sedona, Arizona. We discovered the river blocking our way after turning off Route 89A and on to the road leading to the cabin.

Earlier, while shopping in Tlaquepaque Village, the resort sent me a text stating the road leading to their resort had traffic cones as a barrier to the entrance. The text assured us we had nothing to worry about and instructed us to move the traffic cones and continue on. There was no mention we would need to ford a waterfall.

The snow runoff seemed in a hurry to get across the road, over the cliff, and down the mountain. The gushing water, maybe only one foot deep or ten feet, surged with the strength that could easily shove a car over the edge. A light blue sedan sat vacant to the side of the road. Someone had parked their car rather than risk driving through.

Jerry and I sat in our car staring at the water ahead.

“What do you want to do, Bronwyn? We have paid for a cabin and the only way to get there is on this road. I can make it.”

The mention of money already paid, which is non-refundable, had a way of making me see things more clearly.

“Okay, let’s go,” I said, closing my eyes and grabbing on to the door handle in preparation for the trauma I was about to endure. I probably had years of therapy ahead of me dealing with this waterfall terror.

What goes through one’s mind while forging a river at the top of a waterfall? For me, it was—does this car float? Will I fit through the window so I can climb out when the car lands in the water below? Do I remember how to swim?

We came to the resort for an overnight getaway to celebrate my birthday. Dinner served in our cabin came with the reservation. If we were going to sweep away in the water, I would miss dinner. Your mind does strange things in times of crisis. You suddenly want pan roasted chicken and mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy.

Jerry chugged through the water like a steamboat. Soon, we were on the other side and continued on.

“See. No problem,” Jerry said, his way of making a victory speech.

After checking into our cabin, we hiked in the mushy and icy snow to explore the area. With so much mud on every path, we turned back. We stopped at the resort office to mention our cabin didn’t have the bottled water as promised when we checked in.

“Wait a second,” said the receptionist and hustled to the back room. Did I hear a faucet running?

She returned with a clear bottle of water. “Our water here is so pure we can drink it straight from the faucet,” she said handing us the bottle.

You mean it’s not actually “bottled” water, like the kind you pay money for and comes from an aquafer that’s ten-thousand years old? It’s not even smart water from Costco?

The receptionist seemed very proud of the area’s water, but the slushy, melting snow mixed with mud and sticks made me wonder. Is that where the water comes from? I was skeptical.

We sat in chairs similar to these and on a porch like the one shown here.

Back at our cabin, Jerry and I rested in cushy chairs on the cabin’s porch. We didn’t have a television, or WiFi. We were out of network. No ding, ding, ding of text messages for us. Instead, we had a beautiful, snow-covered forest. Studies have shown that trees lower stress, restore focus, and improve mood. Ahh, the fresh mountain air felt invigorating. The tapping melodic rhythm of snow dripping from tree limbs made us feel we had landed on another planet.

When you live in the desert and see sage brush and mesquite year after year, you long for trees and mountains and dripping snow.

Our actual view from our porch at our cabin.

As the sun set, some of the resort’s trees lit up in fairy lights. Nice touch. Enchanting, actually. Soon, our cabin boy delivered our dinner (yes, we had a cabin boy).

“I’ll be back to get your dishes in forty-five minutes,” he said, then jumped into his golf cart and sped away.

“Jerry, we only have forty-five minutes to eat our dinner?”

There would be no languishing over the dessert of strawberry and blackberry shortcake.

Jerry made a fire in the cabin’s fireplace. For us desert people who haven’t seen a fire in a fireplace in over eleven years, we were mesmerized. The fire spit and popped and crackled, just like I remembered fires did.

The next morning, we hiked to the Lodge for the breakfast buffet. I mentioned to one of the staff clearing plates off the tables that the apple butter was exquisite. “We make it here,” she said with a smile. Since she seemed friendly, I asked if she drives through the river to get to work. Maybe there was a boat service for employees. Maybe a convenient zip line? She said, “Oh, I drive through it all the time.” She smiled even wider, like she had mastered the skill of waterfall driving in the same way Evel Knievel’s son Robbie mastered sailing his motorcycle across the Grand Canyon.

This is a different waterfall than the one we encountered. But this man didn’t want to drive through it to get to his cabin… is my guess.

With our car packed up, Jerry handed in our key at the resort’s office. Our GMC trekked back down the road. Soon, the raging river of runoff greeted us like an old friend we don’t trust very much.

Jerry said something like, “Ready?” He said it with the enthusiasm you ask someone if they’re ready for their colonoscopy.

He didn’t wait for my reply. “Here we go!” he called out as he cut through the water like he’d done it a million times.

Our car splashed waves in our wake like a Disneyland ride. “Yahoo,” I said, which I hardly believe anyone says during a colonoscopy.

When we turned on Route 89A and proceeded down the mountain, I felt happy. Not because we survived the river or that it turned out to be less threatening than I had imagined. Not because I had saved two chocolate chip cookies from our breakfast buffet and wrapped them in a napkin. Although I felt happy about that.

I felt happy because my phone started to ding, ding, ding as we neared civilization. As we drove through Sedona, I hardly noticed the town’s majestic red-rock formations. I had my smiling face staring at my phone, reading the birthday messages, memes, and e-cards.

****************

For my subscribers:

I will send a signed copy of my book (as supplies last), Sliding Down the Mountain in a Basket, if you write a review of it and post it on Amazon. If you already wrote a review (and want a signed copy) I will send one to you also. Thank you. Send your mailing address to: www.BronwynEWilson@aol.com–write “Review” in the subject heading.

Cold Toast, Worn-out Wonder Wieners, and other Life Lessons

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Six Life Lessons I Have Learned

1. A watched toaster never pops.

You have to ignore the toaster. Don’t wait for the toast to pop up. Walk away. Get distracted by something else. Fold laundry. Do your taxes. When you get back to the toaster, you’ll find your toast has popped up. Except it’s cold. How long did it sit, popped up and waiting for you? Hmmm? I have learned the solution. Outsmart the toaster. Press the cancel button every few seconds. Pop up, push down, pop up, push down. Check the toast until it’s a light, golden brown. The toaster is ill-equipped to stop you from this ingenious action. And you will feel victorious as you enjoy your warm toast.

Another way to outsmart the toaster is to let it see you grip the toast between your teeth. This is a way to show –you mean business.

2. Tea tastes better in Victoria, B.C.

You have to go there to taste the robust and aromatic English tea for yourself. No one knows for sure why Victoria’s tea is so much better than ordinary tea. Maybe because it doesn’t come in a teabag and it’s not called Lipton. The special Victoria tea is poured from a royal china teapot into dainty gilded teacups. It is served with scones and Devonshire clotted cream and teeny sandwiches the size of postage stamps. The tiny sandwiches come stuffed with cream cheese and sliced strawberries or egg salad with cucumbers. You can double-enhance your tea experience if you dump a big glob of the clotted cream into the teacup. Add a strawberry or two. Ahhh, heaven. Your server in Victoria is polite, as all Canadians are. Here’s a warning. Canadians will stop being polite if you make any amusing quips about the Queen, whose picture is on their money and everywhere. Don’t make quips about anything you find amusing. Canadians take their tea seriously. Be prepared for your pot of tea to be removed from your table rather swiftly if your server detects the slightest hint of jocularity during teatime.

3. Never listen to naysayers.

“You can’t do this.” “You can’t do that.” “Don’t go to Mexico, it’s dangerous.” “You can’t have everything. People in hell want ice water.”

I learned to not listen and do the things I didn’t think I could. While on a hike in Mexico, far off in a wooded area, my traveling group came to a river with no bridge to cross, unless you call a four-inch wide plank set across the raging river a bridge. Perhaps the plank was slightly wider and the river slightly less raging. At any rate, the plank stretched across the river, four or five feet high above the water. As I bravely placed my foot on the wood plank, I heard a little voice in my head mock me, “You’ve had a hip replacement. Your balance is off. Hee hee. The water below waits for your soon arrival.” That naysaying voice didn’t stop me. I tightrope-walked the plank like a pro. Of course, I had a tiny, little bit of help from a young man named Pasqual. He held my hand the whole way across. He even stepped into the raging river with his shoes on to help me cross safely. The point is, life throws us lots of obstacles, but we can’t let that stop us from moving forward. Otherwise, you are stuck on one side of the river while your group crosses over and leaves you standing alone.

4. Slippers need hazard warning labels.

While in my hotel room in Mexico, the alarm on my iPhone startled me awake. I recall being so excited to turn the obnoxious sound off that I leapt out of my bed in one swoop. One foot had fallen asleep and didn’t cooperate with my other foot. My slippers rested on the floor below the bed and my numb foot and the slippers didn’t work together. I ended up on my knees. I’m pretty certain the slippers tripped me (purposely). I didn’t suffer a serious injury but I limped the rest of the morning. My slippers were the only danger I ever faced in Mexico.

This woman is wearing slippers similar to the ones that tried to kill me. She seems unaware of the danger she’s in.

5. Our world would be a dreary place without children.

If we didn’t have children, who would tell us the truth? Who would say, “I’m sorry you’re poor,” when they noticed you don’t drive a Mercedes? Who would say, “Mr. Wilson, this spaghetti tastes like barf” when you have a group of children over for a sleepover and your chef husband added a touch of Romano cheese to the spaghetti? Who would say, “You stink” when their mother is cooking with garlic and they think the smell comes from you? You say in defense, “No, it’s not me. It’s the garlic your mother is putting in the pizza sauce.” Kids don’t want your explanation. Their eyes squint your way. They purse their lips. They know the truth.

This boy doesn’t want to hear your lies. He knows what stinks and what doesn’t.

6. The best thing in life after love and flowers and coffee is QVC.

This shopping channel is a remarkable way to buy what you never thought you wanted but suddenly must have. Did you want a purse –all leather from Italy? Probably didn’t think you did until you watched QVC. The women hosts on the program can sell anything. If they had old hotdogs with mold for sale, the QVC women could sell thousands.

QVC Host: “Here we have something that’s new and trendy and a must-have. These are old hotdogs, purchased way after the expiration date, and we at QVC were fortunate to get a hold of about 10,000 packages. Our Worn-out Wonder Wieners come in several shades of green. We have sage-green, moldy-green, and grayish-green. Oh! …Oh!… I’m so sorry but the grayish-green wieners just sold out. They are going fast. Call in now before the other two shades also disappear. Let me show you how stylish your dinner party will be with our exclusive Worn-out Wonder Wieners. See, how they glisten a green shine on this platter? Just think how your friends and family will enjoy visiting ER after a sumptuous meal of your green wienies. Mabel, tell me. How many of these wonderful wieners do we have left now? Oh no! Only 500 packages left. Hurry, call in now and order. And don’t forget. You can have these with only five easy payments.”

ßω♥ ***some embellishment or exaggeration may have been used in the making of this blog.