No, thank you. NO, thank you. NO, THANK YOU.

In the spirit of Halloween: Did you hear the one about a skeleton who walked into a bar and ordered a drink and a mop?

By far, one of my favorite jokey, non-jokes. Most people don't get it the first time they hear it, so you get to watch the lines in their forehead wrinkle, their eyebrows knit together and the gears in their brain grind. THEN they go "OH." Very rarely does anybody laugh. They just acknowledge that they GET IT.

But, do they really?

I, for one, know I fain understanding sometimes just to get out of a situation. Like the one at Tom Thumb the other night.

I was purchasing a 36-pack of water bottles. I had lifted the bottles off the bottom shelf and carried them to the conveyor belt myself. It wasn't a back-breaking experience and, actually, I needed to work out my arms, so I was glad to carry them*.

Once I got to the head of the line, the kind checker asked if I wanted a cart for the bottles. "No, thank you" was my response.

Then the inquisition began.

"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Thank you."

Enter our handy bagger. Who happened to be deaf, God bless her. She pointed to the cart area and said something I couldn't understand. I smiled, doing my best "I totally get what you just said" look.

It was clear she thought I needed a cart, too. And she wasn't giving up easily.

Me, hoping I was about to respond to the unitelligble statement correctly: "No. Thank you."
Bagger: "Need cart."
Me, waving my arms and hands like I was a line judge at the Super Bowl: "No. That's OK."

Then the bagger stopped an elderly gentleman. A co-worker. "Cart", she commanded. And pointed at me.

I'm sure the confluence of wrinkles on my forehead could have held pennies in it. I just couldn't believe how insistent these people were. What did I look like, a 90-year-old with arthritis and no muscle tone**?

At this point, the gracious thing would have been to accept the cart. But, by golly, it had became a matter of principle. I just wasn't in the mood to deal with GREAT CUSTOMER SERVICE and these people needed to back the heck up!

By this time, my handy credit card had posted the $4.99 charge and mutiny was about to start in the line behind me. Who could blame the other line-dwellers? Here I was with one freakin' item and you'd think I was buying an elephant and leaving without peanuts. Or a big shovel.

Deaf bagger person continued to insist I needed a cart as the checker handed me my receipt. I reached to pick up the water bottles, saw the 80-year-old savior, with MY cart jetisoning toward the checkout stand. I did my best peripheral blindness imitation and passed by him.

After I got to the car, I couldn't help but think about how this would have panned out at Walmart. I would have picked up the bottles, drug them to the checkout stand, the checker would have slung them up on the merry-go-round-for-plastic-bags and, if I was lucky, said "Have a nice day." Or grunted goodbye, depending on the hour and the checker.

And, you know the strange thing? I prefer the Walmart experience. Because I really hate to try to reason with strangers or explain my point-of-view to people I don't know. That's hard enough with people I know intimately.

So, Tom Thumb. Thanks for the water. Best of luck in the grocery wars. When I can't find something I need at Walmart, I'll be back.

But I damn sure won't be buying anything heavy. Or bulky.

Unless I'm in the mood to accept that forsaken cart.




*Over the Summer I attempted to pull myself out of the pool by the arms, without assistance from the legs. I found myself flopping back into the pool like an epileptic fish. Let's just say, when you are laughing at your own lack of strength, it's not a good idea to try this stunt a second time. Best just to use the ladder.

**Don't answer that.

Hello, Gorgeous!

"Do you remember the 21st night of September
Love was changing the minds of pretenders
While chasing the clouds away."

If you haven't gotten your groove on with Earth, Wind and Fire lately, now is THE DAY. Log on to You Tube, search for "September", close the shades, and get down, get funky! I double dog dare you NOT to dance.

When September rolls around and August is but a distant memory*, I start fantasizing about Fall. I am all about Fall. Who could be against a season filled with cooler weather, longer sleep periods and FOOD?

When I think about all the things I love about Fall, I think, "HEY! I was really supposed to be a BEAR! I have the extra chubbiness, love salmon, and think there is nothing better than a good nap. Hibernation, frankly, sounds excellent."

But, since I'm no Yogi, I'll stay in the present and get thinking about all the good things I'm looking forward to:

1. brisk air in the morning when I first open the door to let the dogs out.
2. watching the leaves turn different colors and gracefully dance to their new homes on the ground.
3. the first whiff of a fireplace in the neighborhood being used.
4. finally being able to wear my winter slippers around the house without being questioned by the neighbor kids, who wonder aloud, "Mrs. Nowell? WHAT are you WEARING?"

Fall food? In a word: GLORIOUS! Funnel cakes at the State Fair, Chili pie at football games, Halloween candy**, Thanksgiving pies, homemade Christmas candy and cookies. Good gracious, I'm gaining weight just typing this!

August around here is supposed to end with a rather cool day for Dallas--highs in the upper 80's. That is close enough to Fall weather for me. I'll be breaking out sweaters and leggings next week, at least in my mind.

For today, though, I'll be breaking into my best 70's R&B funk, complete with singing and getting in the groove. Maybe it will make Fall come FASTER?!

"Ba de ya - say do you remember?
Ba de ya - dancing in september?
Ba de ya - never was a cloudy day?"

Yeah Fall!


*Read: on the first of September, in my failing mind, August IS a distant memory.

**This may be my only annoyance about Fall: stores have this cockamamie idea that we should start celebrating Halloween in August, Thanksgiving in September, and Christmas in October. Can't we just leave the holidays where they belong??

G-A-L-V-E-S-T-O-N

After accepting an invitation to join our beloved friends and their kids on the beach for a weekend getaway, I realized (GADS) that I would be required to put on a bathing suit AND wear it IN PUBLIC. Mind you, after three kids and 42 (almost 43) years, my body just ain't what it used to be. Long gone are the days that my brother's friends thought I was "hot". Even with a pool in our backyard, I have only donned my six year old swimsuit twice this year, and only in front of my boys and husband (and dogs).

My friend had great advice "Everyone will be having so much fun they won't care what you look like". I'm sure she's right, I just don't want the whales to get too close to shore and make that sad, low sound, trying to call me back into the deep, blue water, far away from shore....

So, Tuesday night, for the second time in our married life, I made FISH. Tilapia to be exact. And Mike excused himself from dinner and ate cow.

You might think I'd be bitter about this, but I'm not, based on the first time I insisted we eat fish together, to which he thoughtfully replied, "Honey, I don't eat fish. EVER." Being newlywed, an eternal optimist and an aspiring part-time chef, I thought I could win him over with a great white sauce and a cute dress, thus overcoming his chief complaint: "fishy taste".

The first bite was great! Mike "loved the sauce" and didn't remember the "texture of fish being this good". I was victorious! And was already going through my mental Rolodex of fish recipes clipped from magazines past*. My dreams of fish baking, frying, sauting, and blackening came to a screeching halt when I looked across the table and saw my sweetie pie SPITTING HIS FISH INTO HIS NAPKIN. AFTER THE FIRST BITE!

What had happened? Had I veered from the recipe? Too much pepper? Too much wine?

Too much fish, it turned out.

So, in making tilapia last night, I was working to influence a second generation of Nowells to embrace fish. Thankfully, this time, I won over two of three (and, quite possibly, the dog that the other one fed.)

Happily, my quest for a "new" body by July 31st had started...with fish.

*Incidentally, a real OCD problem for me. If you need to know how to braise calf brain, I've got the recipe clipped.....