Daddy’s Gone a-Hunting

man in camouflage suit holding shotgun

Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com

Father’s Day causes me to remember my childhood when “daddy-went-a-hunting” and came home with wild critters that the family was expected to consume. [If you are vegetarian, stop reading now.] If like most homo-sapiens you are a meat eater, you may be able to understand that meat does not always come from the meat counter at the local supermarket.

Daddy’s Gone a-Hunting

“Did you have to eat wild game when you were a kid?” I asked Honey the other day. A program on the radio about eating game had triggered a flash-back to my childhood.

He thought I was crazy. “We were Jewish. I grew up in the city. The only unusual thing I remember eating is lamb.”

“Lamb isn’t wild game,” I commented. “It’s mutton.” My mother fixed both lamb and goat on occasion. It was considered a treat. It tasted something like a cross between beef and pork and was always cooked with a dash of vinegar, I supposed to tenderize it.

Growing up in the South, nearly all grown-up men that I knew were hunters. When you hunted game, you were supposed to eat what you killed. First of all, it would be wrong to kill simply for the sport of killing. Secondly, free food helped to stretch the family budget.

Daddy owned a shotgun for hunting. Guns made mother nervous, but she had grown up in an environment where guns and hunting were a way of life. Once when daddy was cleaning his gun, it went off in the house and he shot a hole in the chest of drawers. Needless to say, mother was not happy about that episode — not happy at all.

Daddy’s favorite wild game to hunt was rabbits. He and a friend or relative would go out to hunt and come home with a sack of dead rabbits which were skinned, gutted, and fried by mother in her big black iron skillet, like chicken. They did not taste “just like chicken” however. They tasted just like rabbit.

Another of daddy’s game items was squirrel. Squirrels were more difficult to shoot, and it was hard to kill a “mess” of squirrels. However, if a squirrel happened to scamper into sight during the rabbit hunt, chances are that it too would end up in the bag and, later, the big iron skillet.

One of the oddest creatures Daddy hunted, though, was frogs. He and a friend would decide to go frog “gigging”. This was done with a flashlight at night when the frogs were out. The only parts of the frog that we ate were the legs. Frog legs were also fried and tasted rather fishy. Probably with enough breading and grease, anything wild could be fried.

One of our worst experiences with wild game, however, was with venison. Daddy never hunted big game, or at least never had any success if he did. A deer hunting friend of his, however, gave us a big venison roast. Mother dutifully tried to cook it, just like beef.

I don’t know if she knew about soaking it in salt water, to get the game taste out. The longer the deer meat cooked, the more like game it smelled. It became stronger and stronger. By the time it was ready, we were all sick from the smell and no one could eat. That particular treat ended up in the garbage, wasteful or not. It took days to air out the house and get rid of the smell. After that, no more venison was ever cooked in our house — only squirrels and rabbits.

I know that some people eat wild things a whole lot stranger than rabbits, from snakes to ‘possums. Thank goodness daddy didn’t know how to hunt for opossum. We didn’t have wild duck or quail either, probably for the same reason.

Nowadays, we are pretty far removed from the reality of hunting for food. As far as I’m concerned, meat comes from the supermarket, butchered and wrapped in plastic wrap. Honey would not touch a piece of pork with a ten foot pole, so it is beef, chicken or fish around here.

That’s okay with me. If I want anything that tastes just like chicken, I’ll eat chicken.

Copyright 2012 Sheila Moss
Posted in Food, Holidays, Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Get a Haircut

hair

Do you have Covid hair, but have not yet ventured out to a barber or beautician? I’ve waxed poetic this week with a little piece of silliness about hair.

Why is that if you change your hair, everyone has to comment on it? “You got a haircut,” they say, as if the elves cut it while you were asleep and you hadn’t noticed.

And as if one amazing discovery isn’t enough, “Did you get a perm?” No, my hair is curly when short.

“Did you change the color?” No, same as always.

And, of course, “I like it.”

Ninety-nine percent of those who like it also have short hair. Surprise!

GET A HAIRCUT

Do you need someone’s opinion?
Get a haircut.
Do you want some criticism?
Get a haircut.
If you really want it,
And intend to not condone it,
And never will bemoan it.
Get a haircut.

Do you want some shorter tresses?
Get a haircut.
Say goodbye to big hair messes
Get a haircut.
If your budget can’t do Pravda,
And you think you really oughta
Do what you know you gotta,
Get a haircut.

Do you want some sideways glances?
Get a haircut.
Do you dream of new romances?
Get a haircut.
Do you feel a little miffed?
Could you use a major lift?
Let imagination drift.
Get a haircut.

Do your friends nitpick too much
About your haircut?
Do they notice when you blush
About your haircut?
Do you wish that they would drop it,
Try a little less to mock it,
And pretend you never got it,
A new haircut.

Have you had too much attention
Since your haircut?
Do you wish no one would mention
Your new haircut?
Could they just leave you alone,
And let your life go on
Without comments, smirks, and groans
About your haircut?

To find out who your friends are,
Get a haircut.
They will sometimes go too far
About a haircut.
People simply can’t resist
And so they will persist
To drive your life amiss
About a haircut.

Why can’t they just shut-up
About your haircut?
You’re ready to blow up
About your haircut.
Don’t they know that it will grow?
And you don’t need them to show,
What they think you oughta know
About your haircut.

Could they mind their own bee’s wax
About your haircut?
Yes, you got beneath the ax
And got a haircut!
If you wanted a critique,
You would let the info leak.
Right now you’re up a creek.
You got a haircut.

You didn’t know you had bad hair
Before your haircut.
Now you’re getting stale hot air
About your haircut.
If it was so bad before,
Why can’t they just ignore?
And not rag you any more
About your haircut.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Fashion, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Do-It-Yourself – Easy Assembly

wolfie

Photo by vlad shu on Unsplash

Like Goldilocks and the three bears, we tried out all the chairs for size. This one was too big, this one too small, this one too stiff, this one too hard. Finally, we found a chair that was “just right.” The way my luck usually runs, I figured it would be out of stock, but, no, they had one left in the back — unassembled.

Yesterday was my honey’s birthday. I wanted to get him a new leather computer chair since his old one was getting pretty shabby. I thought he should help pick it out since he would be the one using it. We went to the local computer superstore where they have all kinds of fancy computer accessories and furniture.

There was nothing really wrong with his old chair except the leather had holes in the elbows where he had banged it against the desk. I got my chair at the same time he bought his and it is still good. Go figure.

I was going to get the old chair reupholstered, but the upholstery guy said leather is $200 a yard. “Are you sure you want real leather? What kind of chair is it anyhow? Why don’t you just get a new one? Can you come back Monday? I don’t feel very good today.”

I couldn’t deal with it, so I decided to take his advice and get a new one.

I noticed the box seemed awfully small when they brought it out from the back of the store. They would assemble the chair for only $7.99. But how hard could it be to put a chair together? Stick the top in the base and that’s it. I wanted it now and did not want to wait.

“Easy Assembly,” said the box. We could do it ourselves!

The instructions were so simple there were no words, only pictures: Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, etc. In the box were a base, a back, a seat, casters, arms, the swivel thing, and a metal bracket for the bottom. They even had all the bolts prepackaged and marked for each step.

Men are better at this kind of thing. Honey could put it together. My 10 year old grandson could help.

“Where is the Allen wrench?” said Honey. That should have been my clue.

My grandson found the wrench in the package with the bolts, and things went along pretty smoothly for a while. Then I heard panic. “There is a part missing! See the picture? This metal thing sticking out isn’t there.”

A part missing? Didn’t he check for parts first? Apparently not.

“But there are two holes on the bottom bracket and two holes on the back. They have to go together.” Finally, I convinced him to try the bolts. They fit… nothing missing after all.

After the back and seat were together, we had to attach the arms. By then Honey was getting fed up with the whole thing. After taking the arms off that were backwards and putting them back on the right way, we finally managed to get everything tight enough not to wobble.

By then I was beating myself over the head for not paying $7.99 to get it assembled. What was I thinking? For a lousy eight bucks I could have had them do it.

We sat the chair right side up and Honey sat down. The casters came off and flew in all directions. Back to the assembly line. I should have known there is no such thing as “easy assembly” regardless of what the manufacturer says.

It does look great now that it is finished, and Honey loves it. We are still trying to figure out what to do with all these extra bolts, though.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , ,

Murphy’s Laws for Looters

brokenwindows

If you want to get something for nothing these days, live in New York.

If you don’t know what something is, take it anyhow and worry about what to do with it later.

The more you want a specific item, the greater the probability that someone will beat you to it.

The bigger the jewelry store, the smaller the inventory of what’s left.

If you can’t remember where you left your loot, someone else probably stole it from you.

That thing you ignored while stealing liquor might be a security camera.

If you need four tires for your car, you will only be able to steal three.

Never steal something heavier than you can carry.

If you think you have a lot of loot, you’ve not yet looked in the neighbor’s apartment.

If anyone tries to stop you, offer him or her half of the loot or a bottle of water.

If you steal a priceless statue, it will probably turn out to be a likeness of Trump.

The bigger the television screen, the harder it is to tie it to the roof of your car.

The better the office furniture, the more likely that your van is already full.

Somebody else always plunders the best stuff first.

Stealing a computer from an electronics store is only a good idea if you don’t drop it on your foot.

One looter is a criminal, several are a gang, and hundreds are a riot.

If there is nothing left to steal, maybe it is because you’ve already taken everything.

If you have trouble breaking a window, someone will be recording you on video.

If you can’t find any money in a grocery store, break into the bank.

If you don’t need it, take it anyhow and sell it on eBay.

There is a direct relationship between amount of loot and size of an duffle bag.

Opportunists are people who take advantage of a situation – so are thieves.

Never forget who is responsible for the chaos; that is something else to be frustrated about.

You can always find something better to steal, especially when you have a couple of bricks to throw.

The better a store is secured with plywood, the greater the likelihood that it will be plundered.

No matter how much you have loaded in your trunk, there is always room for a flat-screen TV set.

There are two sides to every story – the one told by TV reporters and the one told by those that watch TV.

If you stole everything but the kitchen sink, go back and get it.

You will never be able to steal as much as your buddy. Your buddy will never be able to steal as much as you.

The only thing more accurate than a looter’s aim with a rock is a policeman’s aim with tear gas.

The more valuable the jewelry is, the greater the probability that it will end up in a pawn shop.

No matter what you do, blame it on frustration with the pandemic and the world will understand.

Looters get away with it. We don’t know how – they just do.

The only emotion more powerful than greed and anger is fear of the National Guard.

If you can’t figure out what to do with your loot, return it and say you are sorry.

If you’ve already sold it, deny it and say you’re innocent, even if you were seen on television carrying it away.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Revised & Updated

 

Posted in Humor, News & Current Events | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Losing My Head

mika-43E513RKDug-unsplash

Photo by Mika on Unsplash

What would you do if you lost your head? What if you were looking for it and couldn’t remember where you left it? Where was it when you last remember having it? If you could remember, maybe you could find it.

My mother always told me I’d lose my head if it wasn’t fastened on, and I guess this means she was right. Way to go mom! This isn’t funny anymore. I don’t know what I’ll do without my head.

I’ve heard of people who became angry and lost their head. Could that be what happened to me? Can it be rolling around the house somewhere waiting until I cool down? Can it be hiding until I come to my senses?

Panic! Frantic! Looking here, there, everywhere, but no head. What will I do without it? Impossible! How can you lose your head?

No more bad hair days, no more talking too much. No more toothaches, or headaches, no tears, or sneezes. No need for hats or hair styles or lipstick. No more dreams or thoughts or laughter. And, I’m dying for a cup of coffee but how can I drink it without a head?

What would cause a person loose their head? I’ve heard of people losing their head over a new love, or any new passion for that matter. But my life is the same old life, nothing new that’s worth losing my head over.

If I had half a brain, surely I could remember what I did with my head. I know I had it yesterday. Did I have it when I went to bed? Did I leave it on the pillow? Lose it under the sheets? Am I only dreaming that I’ve lost my head?

Funny, when you lose your head, you can’t remember anything. Did I put it down somewhere and forget to pick it up? How can you forget something as important as your head? This is a little more critical than losing the car keys or misplacing your cell phone.

Did I leave it in the car? Did I put it in my purse? Is in the hamper with the dirty clothes or did I throw it in the trash can by accident? Maybe it is safely stored away in the closet like my shoes usually are when I can’t find them.

One good thing — no headaches today. Maybe I had a migraine and I wished my head would go away? But I don’t think so… In fact, can’t think at all without a head.

My head, my head, I can’t go outside without a head. What would the neighbors think? Would they call the cops and say a headless person is loose in the neighborhood? Is it against the law to be without a head?

Can I go to work without a head? Would my boss fire me for not having a head on my shoulders? I supposed I can’t expect to hold a job without a head.

I always took my head for granted. We’ve been together for so long that I never thought I could lose it. Somewhere out there is a missing head. If you find it, would you please return it?

What would you do if you lost your head? Would you wander around aimlessly looking for it? Would you wait patiently and hope that it returns? You couldn’t cry or say how much you miss it or tell it how sorry you are that you lost it. You couldn’t promise it that you will never lose it again.

What do I look like without a head? Do I dare look in a mirror? Well, what do you know? There you are, head. On my shoulders, right between my ears, exactly where you have always been. All this worry was for nothing.

I’ve always heard there would be days like this. Look first, panic second… and try not to lose your head.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss

Thanks for putting up with my insanity.  I now return you to the normal world. Thanks for visiting.

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Living to be 100

old hands

Who wants to be 100? I’ve been doing some thinking this week about centenarians — people who live to be 100 or more. Often we associate old age with loss of health and vitality. Getting old is not for sissies.

But some people break the rules and refuse to act their age. One old fellow who is a retired attorney had always wanted to be a baseball batboy for the Red Sox. For his one hundredth birthday, he was granted his lifelong wish to be a batboy for the Sox.

Another little old lady worked as a librarian for her entire life. Even at 100 she continued to work every day in a one room library and museum. She had no plans to quit and continued to dust the books and the floor just as she always had.

Thinking of old people makes us wonder, “How old is old? Are you really only as old as you feel? Are there certain things that centenarians seem to have in common? The secrets to longevity are not really as elusive as the legendary fountain of youth.

First of all, you must have a genetic tendency and come from a family where people tend to live long lives. After that, it is simply a matter of doing the things that we all know we are suppose to be doing anyhow, including such boring activities as getting enough sleep, eating a low-fat, low-calorie diet, and doing that dreaded exercise. Exercising every day can increase life by as much a five years. One elderly centenarian is still riding a bicycle at 100 years.

Another suggestion for a long life is avoiding nicotine and alcohol in excess. One glass of red wine per day, however, is believed to be healthful due to a substance found in the skin of red grapes. Drinking green tea is also believed to contribute to longevity due to the antioxidants found in it.

One centenarian became quite famous when she was photographed celebrating her birthday by lighting a cigarette from the candles of her 100th birthday cake. There are exceptions to any rule — but don’t count on being one.

Most of the secrets to longevity are under our own control. High stress in life and occupations that create it are one of the main things to avoid. Even good dental hygiene and flossing our teeth has been found to prevent infection that can get into the blood stream and cause heart problems.

Centenarians, as a group, seem to be people that have lived active lives and managed to avoid the cancer, diabetes, heart disease and accidents that kill people at an early age. Often they are still working and never retired. One lady spent her life in political jobs and led active life at 100 as a sergeant-at-arms for a state legislature.

“World’s oldest living person” is an honor that tends to change frequently, unfortunately. The person confirmed as the oldest person who ever lived was a French lady who lived to 122. There have been numerous claims of incredible age since times of antiquity but absolute proof, such as a birth certificate, was scarce in times past.

With advancements in medicine and health, there is little question as to whether a person can live to be 100 or even older.  One person in 1000 is expected to live to be 100.

You don’t have to be old just because you are. So, who knows, the next centenarian might very well be you or me.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss

NOTE: The corona pandemic is exacting a grim toll among the estimated 70,000 centenarians in the U.S. Remarkably, however, a few have managed to survive COVID-19 against all odds.

Posted in Health, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Hell’s TV

tv

One of the worse things about staying home with nothing much to do has been watching daytime TV with it’s various reruns of previously popular shows. 

What has happened to television?  I remember a time when we could hardly wait for Monday night and “I Love Lucy” to come on. There were funny shows on television, “sitcoms.” We watched the likes of Dick Van Dike, Mary Tyler Moore, Lucille Ball or Carroll O’Connor and laughed like hyenas.

Somewhere over the rainbow television went haywire.  We have satellite TV now, zillions of channels to flip through, but, there is nothing to watch. Reality television has taken over the air waves, like a quarterback with the football.

We watch chefs prepare food in the kitchen while ducking vicious curses thrown at them like pots and pans. We watch “teams” on a deserted island connive, scheme, and lie to survive a game of elimination to win a million dollars — and a lifetime supply of mosquito repellent, I assume. We watch singles form emotional liaisons and coldly eliminate the competitors to come up with the perfect match, whom they dump as soon as the show ends.  And worst of all, we watch guts and gore as crime scenes assault us like scenes from Steven King’s worst nightmare.

I try to watch TV while a Nanny teaches parents how to take care of their own kids. They are fighting, jumping, biting and screaming little monsters until the parents find out about “time out” and declare war on Sippy cups. Have these people never heard of Dr. Spock? After 30 minutes, I cannot stand listening to screaming kids any longer as my eardrums might burst and send me flying around room like a balloon losing its air.

Hell’s Kitchen, aptly named, is hell for TV viewers as well. It used to be that restaurants had front stage and back stage. Front stage was where the patrons were, and we were never subjected to the goings-on involved in the preparation of food.  If we wanted to see food prepared, we would go  to mom’s house for dinner.  Now we get to see chefs overcook or under cook steaks, throw away enough food to end world hunger, curse like pirates with a toothache, and sweat like sumo wrestlers.

Contestants on game shows now have no questions to answer but only numbers to choose. No skill is involved, merely chance. Enormous amounts of money are turned down as contestants say “no deal” to try to get even more.  It’s like an addiction. More often than not, they end up as runaway racecars that can’t quit trying to win until they crash on the wall.  Greed in all it’s glory. Not a pretty sight.

And those crime scene investigation shows — what can I say? You’ve all made the mistake of turning on the boob tube to the grizzly site of human remains, battered, slaughtered, burned beyond recognition, drawn and quartered and all on display for our entertainment and amusement. Almost worse than the shocking display of carnage is the indifferent attitude of the police and doctors who are as cold and cynical as a homeless person in January. When crime scene investigators stop caring, it’s time for them get out of the business.

Well, I could go on and on describing how television has gone south and there is nothing on it to watch. I wish we could have more comedy shows, television that makes us laugh like we are wearing fuzzy slippers. Maybe those days are gone forever. Viewers are now more sophisticated. What used to be funny isn’t as funny when we see it in a rerun. Networks are unwilling to pay comedy writers and want unscripted reality shows that can make the payments on their executive mansions.

How much more of this type of entertainment can we take before there is  mass hysteria in our living rooms? Is this actually considered interesting entertainment. No wonder so many no longer watch broadcast television and only stream movies or series. We can only hope that the pendulum swings back and viewers eventually get the last laugh.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss
Posted in Entertainment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

One Day at a Time with AT&T

networkThinking of changing network providers? This is my experience based on the 12-Step Program. Hopefully, your “improvement” will go more smoothly.

Step 1 – Admit you are powerless over your cable company. What used to be a mere pittance for broadband computer connection has continued to rise until it has become a money -sucking monster.

Step 2 – Come to believe that a power greater than Comcast can restore you to your sanity.

Step 3 – Make a decision to turn your life and your computer over to the care of AT&T, as you understand them and the advertisements.

Step 4 – Make a searching and fearless inventory of your home and count all the computers, including laptops, disregarding old computers and old computer parts
in the attic.

Step 5 – Admit to AT&T, yourself, and Comcast that you are stupid for paying more money for cable just to keep your free virus protection, an unused home page,
and eight email addresses, seven of which you’ve never used.

Step 6 – Be entirely ready to have AT&T remove your cable connection.

Step 7 – Humbly ask the phone company to reconnect you.

Step 8 – Make a list of all the email contacts you will have to notify and be willing to accept that you will lose about half of them.

Step 9 – Make a direct wired connection to your computer whenever possible, except when to do so involves a remote computer or laptop — for those you need to go wireless.

Step 10 – Continue to take inventory of computers and printers and to work endless hours with AT&T support people to get your computer up and running.

Step 11 – Seek through meditation to forget your aggravation with AT&T as you thought you understood them, praying for an understanding of why you cannot connect to the Internet, regardless of what you do.

Step 12 – Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of three endless days of being on the phone with support techs, frayed nerves, no sleep, lost time, and nothing working right, try to carry the message to others.

Step 13 – Crawl under the desk, find the old computer cable and plug yourself in. Kiss your computer. Check email, update your website, and check out Facebook. Sooner or later your new company will get their act together. Until then, remember…

Relapse is a part of improvement.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss

 

NOTE: I don’t know what went wrong here. Maybe I don’t have enough patience. Eventually things were worked out and we’ve been happy since. However, I’m still not convinced that one service is much different than another.

 

Posted in Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Sky’s A-falling

sky“The sky’s a-falling, the sky’s a-falling,” said Henny Penny when she was hit on the head by an acorn in the classic fable. I know how she felt. I thought the sky was      a-falling too this week when my central heating unit went out. It had already been one of those weeks when everything that could go wrong did.

This time it started Sunday when I set the thermostat down just a bit. During the night it seemed to become colder and colder. Finally, some time during the early morning hours, I crawled out from under the covers and turned up the heat. Then I jumped back in bed for a final snooze.

When I eventually woke up, the house was freezing. “What’s going on,” I thought. I put my hand over the vent and the air blowing out was cold. “Maybe I was half-asleep and turned on the air,” I thought. I tried to adjust the thermostat, but nothing happened.

I shivered as I slipped into my warmest jeans and sweater and tried to remember the name of the company that put in my furnace. I called. They promised to send someone that afternoon at one o’clock, which worked out well as I had to take my daughter to the doctor in the morning.

When we got back from the doctor, I decided to run errands and pick up a few items at the discount mart. My daughter wanted to stay home in spite of the cold and would call me when the furnace guy arrived.

It was after one o’clock when I finished and my cell phone had not rung. When I checked it, I found that it was turned off.

“Oh no! I hope I didn’t miss them.”

But when I got home the service truck was in the driveway and my daughter was on the steps. “I’ve been trying to call you for an hour,” she said. “They came early.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the phone must have turned itself off.”

“Wait until you hear the news,” replied my daughter, as the guy got out of his truck.

The furnace burner was rusted and disintegrating. The cost to fix it left me flabbergasted. Furthermore, the entire unit was in terrible shape. He recommended that I replace it. “It’s 15 years old,” he said, “that’s about as long as they last.”

“I looked at it, Mom,” said my daughter. “It’s rusty inside and falling apart.” The pipe that carries the gas was split open. If it didn’t have an automatic shut off, we would have died from carbon monoxide.

I could feel the pieces of sky a-falling around me like stars.

I picked out what seemed like the best new unit for the money, while pieces of sky continued a-bouncing on the ground around me. They would put it in the next day — unless it rained.

The next day turned out to be the day after the next day. We were entirely without heat. We brought in the little electric space heater out of the garage and turned it on. Shortly afterwards, the living room went dark. Overloaded circuit.

What next?

We decided to build a fire in the fireplace. We were snug and warm as long as we sat near the fireplace. By the third night, I was beginning to sort of enjoy the cozy fire. Maybe we didn’t really need a furnace?

Or maybe some carbon monoxide had leaked after all and damaged my brain. What would we do this winter when it became really cold? Maybe I had been hit in the head by a piece of falling sky — or an acorn.

They finally came and installed the new furnace.

The sky’s a-falling. I know it. Henny Penny knows it too. But no one else seemed to notice.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss

 

Posted in Home, Humor, Rants | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Turtleneck Sweaters

markus-winklerDid you ever try to find a turtleneck top in the summer? I’m here to tell you folks, it isn’t easy.

Last winter the Land’s End catalog was full of them, all colors. They even came in tall sizes with long sleeves that are a few inches longer than the average turtleneck like you find in stores.

Lately, I have found that I have a legitimate need for turtleneck tops. I had no idea they were so hard to find. I had surgery on my neck. The incision healed, but it left a nasty looking scar on my neck, hard to hide with anything other than a turtleneck.

I have several turtleneck sweaters in my closet. But they are too hot for summer. Even the cotton ones with the high rolled-over necks are too hot for summer. But mock turtlenecks would be nice — maybe with short sleeves instead of long.

Guess, what? There is no such thing.

I already am the proud owner of exactly one mock turtleneck, and it is actually an acrylic knit sweater, not a cotton top. It’s brown. After a while, I had worn my brown pants, my brown printed skirt and was totally out of things to go with brown.

Yesterday I went to the doctor for my post-op checkup. How’s the incision doing?” he asked, checking out my scar.

“Boy, your neck is a mess,” he joked, as if I didn’t know. My doctor has a warped sense of humor. He’s a fine one to talk about my ugly neck since he is the one responsible for making it that way.

“You can just hide the scar with a turtleneck,” he quipped, as if I didn’t have one on at the time, a heavy blue turtleneck with log sleeves. I was sweltering, but it covered the scar. Why didn’t he do the surgery from the back of my neck where the scar wouldn’t show? I supposed there is some medical reason to do it from the front instead.

“Why don’t you just not worry about it?” suggested my honey. “It’s just a scar, it will fade.”

Men, honestly, they do not understand a woman’s vanity.

“I don’t know why you are making such a big deal about it,” he said.

Neither do I. But somehow I just can’t make myself go out in public with that big red scar showing.

I tried a package of scar therapy patches that are supposed to make scars fade faster, but the incision became inflamed. “Do not use until the wound has healed completely,” said the package.

I think maybe I better wait a while.

So, it’s back to wearing turtlenecks.

I decided to go shopping. I looked through all the racks and found a dozen or so mock turtlenecks. A few of them fit. Most had long sleeves, though. I managed to find a few sweaters with short sleeves that were in a lighter fabric. At least I will not have to wear brown every single day now. Or swelter in heavy, long-sleeve sweaters intended for winter.

Vanity, what a terrible thing to be cursed with. But I suppose everyone worries about how they look to some extent, unless they are complete slobs. Sometimes I think it would be easier just to be a slob.

Anyhow, I have a new plan. Scarves. I could wear a scarf on my neck to cover the scar. They come in all colors and are lightweight.

Now I need to go shopping again.

Copyright 2009 Sheila Moss

 

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