I was a gentle soul. I could have been anointed highest priestess in earlier times.
Tender is the night and days in my gentle being. Lilting phrases rolled from my tongue. Whenever I spoke, another angel either received her wings, a small dowery or free shipping from Amazon Prime. That’s when I received my prized order that would indeed help keep my files and entire life orderly.
Oh the thrill of anticipation, as I attempted to open the plastic packing holding my new label maker.
I manually, with luscious long fingers oh, who am I kidding, with pudgy little fingers I gingerly attempted to tear off the covering to swoon over the soon-to-be-perfect lettering now entering my new future orderly life in MarieKondoLand.
It wouldn’t rip. Then I scissored and cut and poked and sawed. I tried every method to hold my soon-to-be-cherished label maker savior.
The covering was defeating me. I was sweating — losing 17 pounds in water weight (or getting the vapors), which sounds much more feminine doesn’t it? And then, who could imagine, out of my mouth came words heretofore never uttered through my sweet lush lips. They were so vulgar I thought someone else was in the room. Truck drivers in neighboring towns pointed to my home with disgust at the profanity. Drunken sailors around the world shouted in unison, “Tsk. Tsk. How crude! How vulgar! And she’s a granny, yet.”
I washed my mouth out with Tequila as I had run out of soap. I thought about sending myself to bed without dessert, but that was simply too harsh a punishment.
The packing surrounding the %@#$# label maker remained intact. I found my blowtorch, thinking I would simply melt the miserable intractable material.
That’s when possibly (inadvertently, officer!) I burned down my dwelling.
I then moved to a yurt in an undisclosed location.
Someone either googled or found out from that bit** Siri just where I was and thoughtfully brought me a huge jar of pickles as a house gift.
I tried opening the jar.
Do you understand?
I TRIED TO OPEN THIS ONE DAMN JAR OF STINKING PICKLES!!!
Sorry for the outburst.
I’ve now been advised by my attorney and parole yenta not to discuss this any further.
All I can say is every year when the world celebrates Pickle Week, I on the other hand…Oops, here they come. Got to go.
— Jan Marshall
Jan Marshall’s life’s work is devoted to humor and healing through books, columns and consulting. A humorist and television host, she is a Certified Master Hypnotherapist. In 1986 she founded the International Humor & Healing Institute. Her board members included Norman Cousins, Steve Allen, Dr. Bernie Siegel and John Cleese, plus other physicians and entertainers. Her newest satirical survival book is called Dancin’ Schmancin’ with the Scars: Finding the Humor No Matter What! As a survivor, she donates a percentage of book profits to the American Cancer Society, American Brain Tumor Association, Wounded Warriors and The Laguna Woods Village Foundation.