Happy Valentine’s Day!

Turtle Candies get their name from their whimsical turtle shape.

 
   Valentine’s Day, 1995. I bought my wife her favorite chocolate treat — Turtles. The combination of toasted pecans, soft caramel and smooth chocolate is impossible to resist. I decided to rather than just hand them to her in some sloven, unromantic way, that I’d make a game of it.
 
   I stopped by after work and bought the Turtles. Then, I rushed home to set my game into place. I knew I only had a few minutes until my wife got home, so I had to hurry. I carefully cut little place cards out of card stock, and wrote messages on each.  

The first note said,

Happy Valentine’s Day. To show you that I love you, I bought you a gift. But you must find it. You can start by looking on the dining room table.

   On the dining room table was another note card. This one said, “Before you search, you must first check the clock to see what time it is.”

Inside the wall clock was the third note. “It seems it is near dinner time. Maybe you should check the oven?”

   The fourth note was inside the oven. “You’ll want to clean up before you enjoy the delectable treat I have for you. Try checking the medicine cabinet.”

… and so it went. But she got home earlier than I expected. She was already hot on the trail, and I still had to place the last note and hide the candy. As she darted from room to room, I waited for my chance. The last note went on the bed, and said, “Not ON the bed, look UNDER the bed. I love you!” Then she would find her Turtles nesting under our bed.

Only they weren’t there yet.

   As soon as she headed for the back bedroom, I jumped up and ran to our bedroom. I quickly placed the last note card, and dropped the box of Turtles on the floor, giving it a quick kick under the bed. But it didn’t go. I crouched down and lifted the bed skirt. Oh, there’s the problem. My wife had something wrapped in a WalMart bag stuffed under the bed. I shoved it to the side and slid my Turtles in place. I hopped up and returned to the living room sofa, trying to hide the fact that I only planned and executed this little game 30 minutes earlier.

   She headed for the bedroom. There was a long silent pause. Then laughter. She came out carrying two boxes of Turtles, one from me to her and one from her to me — still wrapped in a WalMart bag.

Scary!

A recipe for home-made Turtles.

TOP TEN Rules for Dating My Daughter.

The Lieutenant’s Cookies

Trouble on Facebook

I love Facebook.     My wife hates it.

   My favorite thing about using Facebook is that I get to practice my evil preponderance for sarcasm in response to posts by friends from all over the U.S.

   For example, in a recent post on Facebook, Jessica uploaded a picture of herself after she fell asleep during a Youth Group overnight trip. Her eyes and nose are covered with black permanent-ink marker, her mouth and cheeks are outlined with red dry-erase marker, and her nose is painted a bright green. In the comment field she posted, “What do you think of my new look?” To which I respond, “What’s different?… oh, a little more mascara.”

or this ditty:

   Amanda’s post which leads herself wide open: “Dang, I forgot to buy a broom while I was out.” Which leads me to respond, “Why do you need a broom? Your car not running?“

   A while back, my wife went out of town. The next morning, I get on Facebook like I normally do, and I see a simple post from a female co-worker saying: “It’s 3:00 a.m. I can’t sleep, guess I’ll clean my house.” Innocent enough.

   Instantly, I think of the old clichés: “What are you doing?” “Washing my car.” “You can come wash mine when you’re done!” or “What are you doing?” “Mowing my yard.” “You can mow mine next!” Not very original, but sometimes you need to pay homage to the classics – so I post a response, “Come clean my house…“

I wasn’t prepared to handle what happened next. This simple four-word phrase opened up a whole world of tongue-lashings and verbal abuse from my wife, her family, and her friends that read this post and deemed it totally inappropriate.

then one final post:

• Tammy: “I’ll see you when I get home.”

 
 

I hate Facebook.

16-year-old weds 51-year-old “Lost” star.

 
NEWS ITEM:
 
By Piper Weiss | Shine.com Staff Writer

   Courtney Stodden has us nostalgic for the innocence of Rebecca Black. Like Black, Stodden is a teenager with a really silly video that came out of nowhere and went totally viral. But Stodden’s video isn’t what made her famous this week. It’s her husband, Doug Hutchison, a 51-year-old actor who was in “Lost” and “The Green Mile.” Hutchison wed the 16-year-old last month in a quickie Vegas ceremony.

   He posted their wedding photo on his website and it made their age difference even more terrifying. It looks like a prom photo outtake of a lecherous neighbor drooling over the chest of the high school popular girl next door. It’s the kind of photo that could get a man arrested, if he wasn’t so beloved by Stodden’s family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   That news item reminds me of the time one of the older deacons, Buddy, came to church with a spry, young girl on his arm. She was dressed in a shapely dress, and dripping with jewelry. She was probably in her late 20’s or early 30’s, very cute, friendly, and energetic. Buddy had been a widower for quite some time, so it was a shock to the other deacons to see him escorting such a pretty — and young — lady.

   Filled with curiosity, the other deacons pulled Buddy aside and asked him, “Buddy, How’d you get that cute young thing to be your girlfriend?” Buddy replied, “Oh, she’s not my girlfriend, she’s my new wife.”

“Your new wife?” they asked in astonishment. “How did you talk her in to marrying you?”

Candidly, Buddy replied, “I lied about my age.”

“You didn’t lie and tell her you were 50 did you?”

“Oh, no,” said Buddy, “I told her I was 70.”

A luv letter from Frankie

A dating questionnaire

Would you re-marry?

Like every man, I have my 'toys' and I'm pretty jealous of them.

   My wife and I had a friend pass away and on the way home from the funeral, we were talking about how the funeral was, when the subject of our own mortality came up. She asked me, “If I died, would you remarry?” I thought about it for a moment and thought about how to break it to her gently. “I wish I could say no,” I began, “but at the age I am, I will need someone to care for me, to be there for me.” The reality is I don’t do well alone. I need a partner. Then I asked her if she would remarry.

   Almost too quickly to suit me, she answered, “Yes.” The swiftness of her reply caught me off guard. I thought for a moment about my wife, living with another man. How could she let another man just step in and take my place? And possibly my things? And so I asked, “Well, you wouldn’t let him wear my clothes would you?” She replied pragmatically, “Probably — if they fit.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let him use my golf clubs, would you?” She answered, “I don’t know why not, if he wants to.”

“Well, I hope your not going to let him drive my car, are you?” my friend asked. “Oh no,” she replied, “He won’t be driving your car. I don’t think he knows how to drive a shift.”

What Car Names Really Stand For

“Hokey Pokey” Songwriter Larry LaPrise passes