My dad told us kids that “Kemo Sabe” meant “Stinky Feet.” And that capers are rooster testicles.
Many of our running jokes are based on things that have happened to mom. As a country girl newly arrived in DC, dad had her looking high and low on Mass Ave for the North Carolina embassy. Another guy fooled her into thinking that the change in color halfway up the Washington Monument was the high water mark from Hurricane Camille. We would bring these types of things up quite often for moms benefit.
Once, when I came home from college, I noticed that stuck to the wall as high as I could reach was a little two-pack envelope of aspirin. Dad had licked it, stuck it as high up as he could casually reach as he walked into the kitchen and went about his business. We all left it there because, hey, why not? Visitors would ask why there was a packet of aspirin on the wall and we’d answer, “Well where else would you keep it?”
Reminds me of when I was young and asked my mom “Did they have such-and-such back when you were alive?”
Reminds me of when my mom was cooking up a casual entree for my pop made out of leftovers and pantry items – a potato, cheese, some tuna – yep, “a tuna potatah”.
Whenever I open a door for my mother, I say, “Age before beauty.” To which she always replies “Pearls before swine” as she sweeps past me.
When she was working, I used to visit her at lunchtime. I’d sneak up behind her in her cubicle and very slowly lower my “munching claw” hand into her hair and say “What’s this?” And she would answer,
MOM: A brain sucker.
SCARLETT: And what’s it doing?
MOM: STARVING!
Once at the movies, my wife and I stopped at the concession stand. She asked for some type of candy and was told that they were out. She pointed to a display case on the other side of the lobby (that counter was closed) and asked if they could just get them out of there. The girl at the counter said she couldn’t (not sure why). She walked away disappointed and we got in line. I could tell my wife was simmering under the collar a bit. All of sudden, she suddenly turned around and stalked back to the candy counter, muttering under her breath “I’m going to get my weight out!” I had never heard that expression before, but I assumed it was something along the lines of “throw your weight around” or something, assuming she was going to insist on seeing a manager or something. I proceeded into the theater where she joined me a few minutes later, holding a paper bag of candy (I believe they were nonpareils). I told her I guess it worked. She looked at me quizzically. I then realized that what she had actually said is “I’m going to go get the WEIGHED OUT” meaning the candy at a buy-by-the-pound kiosk in the lobby.
For years after, whenever one of us was confronted by some intractable bureaucracy or some similar predicament we encouraged one another to “get the weight out”.
On one of our family road trips, back in the no-DVD, no iPad olden days, we’d frequently stop poking and kicking each other long enough to ask dad how much longer we had to be in the car. He said “110 more miles” every time for about 2 hours before his genius kids realized the answer wasn’t changing. By the time we caught on we were almost there.
Ever since, that’s the answer, no matter where we are, or who asks. Even when we’re not driving, just waiting somewhere.
My parents were hitters, sometimes the swats came out of nowhere. Even at the dinner table. Roll you eyes–SWAT! Mother would shriek “don’t spill the milk!!” When things got heated, we all quickly learned to pick up our glasses of milk and hold them to our mouths. Once, years and years later, we were at dinner, and one of us noticed that a couple of the others were taking drinks of whatever beverage. We all picked up our glasses and held them to our mouths. Hilarity ensued. My parents didn’t have a clue why we laughed until we cried.
Mother is hard of hearing. I have a sister named Babs. Once mother had just brought out appetizers to an al fresco lunch. One of them was a cheese ball. She was very proud of the cheese ball. One of my other sisters said “Babs’ call?” (Babs was running late) to which my mother replied “Cheeseball?? Yes!!”
Poor Babs has been Cheeseball eversince, which has morphed into Aunt Cheeseball.
2 weeks before my brother passed, I went to visit him. My niece and nephew were there. Brother was sleeping when I got there, so I visited with the kids (who were in their mid 20’s). Nephew assumed a prosecutorial air and asked me about walking to grade school in Philadelphia as a child (due to moving, that was the only school both my brother and I attended, at different times). As nephew asked this, I noticed niece taking some interest. So I explained that the crossing guards made us walk TO school on one side of Thouron Ave because it was uphill that way. And on the way home, they made us walk back on the other side of Thouron Ave, because we’d have to walk uphill on the way home on that side.
I generally don’t have much trouble keeping a straight face when I’m laying a load of bullshit like this on people, but it was really difficult when I’d catch the expressions on their faces. Obviously, with absolutely NO collusion with my brother, I had laid the same story on them that he had throughout their lives. I hope they’ll carry this tradition on with their children.
We call double decker busses “bunk bed busses” and hors d’oeuvres “fast forwards”, because that’s what my little sister said. Not really a joke I guess, just something we say.
Standard joke is also imitating my mum, or making her say Dutch words she can’t pronounce properly. The way she says “rent” makes it sound like she is saying “whore” (huur - hoer). If you’re lucky you can get her to say she paid her whore. Tehehehe!
When my parents were still alive, all I had to do was to spell that word to get two eyerolls and a shudder.
Apparently when I was very young - pre-sister era - I had discovered the word ‘Mississippi’ in school and thought it a very fine word. According to the parental units I repeatedly spelled it over and over and over and over during a car trip: from New Jersey to Illinois.
I was on vacation once with my husband, and - okay, this is embarrassing. We were on a cruise in Greece, and I was considering getting one of those little engraved pillar necklaces to remember the event. I was thinking of having it engraved, but not with my name because that’s boring.
We were in the process of dressing for dinner, and were talking about it in our cabin. So, along the Greek theme, he suggested Athena.
“Athena,” I pondered. ''That might work. I do value wisdom…"
My husband looked up at me and started laughing hysterically. “What?” I demanded, and he pointed at me.
I had put on my pants inside out. The pocket flaps were just sort of hanging there and there was absolutely no way to retain any dignity.
We laughed so hard we fell on the floor. I can honestly say that was the hardest I have ever laughed in my life.
So now I can’t say the word ‘‘wisdom’’ without my husband shooting back, ''You do value wisdom!"
The story seems to vary some depending on which cousin is telling me, but the upshot is that my Uncle Harold was getting paid to treat livestock belonging to friends and neighbors.
One of the local veterinarians took exception to this, and had [del]his brother-in-law[/del]the local Sherriff confront my uncle. My uncle failed to see how reasonable the [del]brother-in-law[/del]sheriff was being, one thing led to another, and my uncle ended up in the hoosegow for some amount of time that varies with the teller, and my uncle stopped treating the neighbor’s livestock.
The end result is that his name stopped being Harold, as he was then known forever after as “Doc”. My aunt (his wife) called him Doc, and his grand kids called him Grandpa Doc. My mom thought this was improper, so became the only person to still call him Harold, which sometimes left people to wonder who she was talking about.
Doc passed away a few years ago, but he was immortalized by The History Channel in their documentary about Mike The Headless Chicken. You can hear his voice from around 0:08-0:20 in this youtube video and see him toward the end of that stretch.
The history channel people showed up at the Fruita Diner, and were asking if anyone had first hand memory of Mike. My cousin told them to “talk to that guy over there, but don’t believe a damned word he says” “So you know him” “Yeah, he’s my dad.”
If you play Trivial Pursuit with my mom, brother, or me and one of us has absolutely no idea what the answer to a “who” question is, our guess will be “Idi Amin.”
I have no idea how it started.
Likewise, with the same game, if you land on/say the word “orange” don’t be surprised if you hear, “…you glad you used Dial?”
We have a similar thing with bananas: my grandmother was diabetic, and always had bananas in the house. After dinner she would always, always ask, “Wanna banana?” Sometimes more than once, especially as she got older. We all knew not to talk about being hungry in front of grandma: she’d offer you a banana. (Unless you actually wanted a banana. Which only encouraged her.) We’d joke about her being a banana pusher.
So now if you mention being hungry, one of us will probably say, “Wanna banana?”
(Aside: when my mom was hospitalized last summer and didn’t eat solid food for a few weeks, the very first thing she ate was part of a banana. When she was feeling better we had a good laugh about that; grandma must have been watching over her. :))
Threatening to hit someone in the car with an umbrella if they suggest going up [name of local road].
Playing Apples to Apples, throwing out Michael Jackson as a name for the round even if no one has that card. If someone actually plays that card, things go crazy.
