“A little humor there,” she said, laughing at her joke. 

ONE.

At an outdoor restaurant called The Farm, Jerry and I waited for the hostess to seat us. As we waited, I admired the healthy-looking chard in the kitchen garden. It boasted lush greenery. An elderly lady strolled by and pointed to it. “What is that?” she asked, looking straight at me. I must look wise and knowledgeable. “Chard,” I said, adding, “It looks healthy. I wonder what they feed it?” The woman said, “Children.” She then laughed heartily. Ha, ha, ha, ha. “A little humor there,” she added, grinning at me with the most self-satisfied smile. I guess it’s good to be up there in years and still get a kick out of yourself. When I think about it, a little humor isn’t such a bad thing no matter how old you are.
As Jerry and I left the restaurant later, Jerry noticed the Swiss chard in the garden. “Why did the lady think it’s funny to feed the plant chili?” he asked. “What’s funny about that? I didn’t see the humor.”

Children-eating chard. Or chili-eating chard?

TWO.

Jerry and I purchased three items at Costco. Two loaves of bread and a carton of blueberries. We had stopped at Costco for something else, but discovered the store was fresh out of what we wanted. As a last-minute thought, we grabbed the two loaves of bread and the blueberries. We stood in a long line (what else?) and when our turn to pay finally arrived, the cashier asked in disbelief, “Is this all you have?” Yes, I told her. Our cashier processed the news rather slowly as she stared at our three items. I realize the average Costco customer spends at least $100 a visit while pushing carts brimming with bulky packages up to the checkout counter. Our cashier needed time for the reality to sink in. Only– three– items! This doesn’t happen at Costco. She seemed light-headed, perhaps dizzy, from the easy transaction before her. Scan, scan, scan—done. She smiled and seemed giddy, refreshed to face the next customer.

THREE.

In the cosmetic store at the mall, the silver-haired saleslady greeted me with her overdone, scream-at-you, deep red lipstick. Her big red, puffy lips reminded me of a puckered-up blowfish. She attempted to sell me some of the very same red lipstick applied to her lips. “This is my favorite lipstick,” she said, twisting the lipstick case to reveal a deep, garish red. She called it Rosé. I could just imagine my new nickname, Blowfish Bronwyn, when wearing this lipstick. I explained I would think about lipstick purchases another day, but needed other cosmetics. Upon leaving, the saleslady said, “I’m going to give you a sample of our Ginseng moisturizer, it’s made with coffee.” I said, “Coffee? Why don’t I just eat it!” Of course, meaning ingesting would be a quicker way to get caffeine than putting it on my face. But the saleslady didn’t smile. She gawked at me with her puffy, pouting red lips. She seemed concerned for me. I could have commented, “A little humor there.” But I’m not old enough to get a kick out of myself yet. I later told Jerry about my quip of eating the moisturizer and how the saleslady didn’t even crack a puffy red-lip smile. “You get my humor, don’t you Jerry?”  Jerry often gives me compliments and affirmations without me asking, but I now gave him a great opportunity by making it so much easier for him.

“Yeah,” he said, with a lot less enthusiasm than I hoped for.

Man: “You’re amazing and beautiful.”
Woman: “Yes, I know. Tell me 492 more times.” 

I would like to see a new rule for men, (yes, all men). When a woman asks a man if they get their humor, the men need to say, “Yes, I’m smiling even now thinking of your delightful humor. And you’re amazing and beautiful.” That’s it! Men need to add, “you’re amazing and beautiful” at the end of every sentence. “Good-night. You’re amazing and beautiful.” “I killed the weeds in the yard. You’re amazing and beautiful.” “I bumped my foot on the corner of the desk. It’s swelling to a purplish-blue. You’re amazing and beautiful.” (I love how this new rule sounds.)

Beets look exciting in their purple splendor. It’s a trick.

FOUR. 

Jerry unloaded the groceries and put them away. Suddenly he belted out a scream. “What’s wrong?” I asked, ready to jump into I-can-handle-the-crisis mode. Jerry hoisted up the can of beets I had purchased. He discovered it in the grocery bag. His grimace had a look of horror and despair. “This-sss,” he said gripping the can of beets and waving it in the air. (I could hear the Psycho-shower music screeching as he displayed the can.) eeeeeeee-eeeeeee.
“Well, what’s wrong with that? I like a good beet on my salad. I bought beets for me. You’ll be pleased to know, I’m not sharing with you.” Jerry stashed the can of beets in the pantry with the same kind of haste someone might rid themselves of lit dynamite.
I flashed back to the days when Jerry and I were engaged to be married. One day he said to me, “Promise me you’ll never buy beets.” “Why?” I asked. “Because,” he admitted, “I hate them.”
Thinking back on this now, I realize I had reason to call off the engagement. However, beets don’t give me any thrills like chocolate (which is a vegetable since it comes from the cocoa bean). I would never agree to not buy chocolate. But I felt pretty certain I could live without beets and I agreed to his request.
Besides, I believed my promise meant I would not buy beets for him. I would not serve beets as a dinner side dish. I didn’t believe the rule applied to buying beets for myself. Recently, I read an article stating the goldmine of nutrition contained in beets. This prompted my idea to buy beets and put them on my salad.

After all these years of beet deprivation, I felt like a liberated woman. Ahhh, I bought beets! It felt wondrous.

This woman displays my feeling of liberation after I bought beets. And to make it even better, I ‘m feeling beet-liberated in Paris.

I made a salad and along with the avocado and tomato and sunflower seeds, I added some beets. I could feel the liberation engulf me. I took one delicious beet bite. Ack! Ack! Accchkkk. What is this? Rubber? No, I’m sure rubber tastes better.
“Ohhh, you’re eating your beets,” Jerry remarked as he noticed my salad.
“Yes, Jerry. Mmm. Mm.”
(I need to get rid of these beets as soon as Jerry isn’t paying attention.)

βω♥