Ruth Andrew
Fiction, Nonfiction, Humor
Fiction, Nonfiction, Humor
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Humor
Shortly before we moved to Spokane, I began to publish humor articles in a number of newspapers. This was one of my favorites. Enjoy!
OKAY, MOM: On Your Mark, Get Set, Go ... and Doggone! The Omaha World-Herald
It all started simply enough. I phoned the poodle groomer. “I’d like to make an appointment to have my poodle groomed. Any day next week. Yes. Wednesday will be fine.” That was also my allergy-shot day. I could just run over to the clinic after I dropped off the dog.
A few days later my son received a call from the local newspaper. His name was at the top of the list for a weekly paper route. That afternoon, a man came to our house to give my son the details of the route – 218 papers, plus circulars, to be banded and delivered every Wednesday by 6 p.m. The route would begin the following Wednesday.
“Mom,” he asked, “Will you write that on the calendar?” “Sure. Right under Cocoa’s grooming appointment and my allergy shot.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Hey, Mom. I’ll make you a deal. A penny for every two papers you fold.” “Cash?” This was an exciting possibility. If I folded enough papers, it would offset his entire allowance without his even knowing it.
“Who was that on the phone?” I asked later that evening. “School,” my husband told me. “Wanted you to chaperone a field trip for the fifth-graders next week. I told them you could.” “When?” “Wednesday.” The rest of the week I began to twitch at the mention of Wednesday.
When the alarm sounded before dawn Wednesday morning, I began the day with determination. The dog was deposited at the Poodle Parlor before the children left for school, a feat nobody in my family believed possible. I hurried to get my allergy shot, sprinted from the clinic and raced back to the house just in time to see the truck leaving a tremendous bundle of papers in the driveway. I lugged the papers into the house, leaving a trail of several hundred loose rubber bands. After rolling up my sleeves, I madly threw myself into the task, slapping together papers and circulars and banding them in record time. I worked until zero hour for the field trip to see the President.
Nobody ever told me it would take so long to wash off the newsprint from my hands and when I finally arrived at my destination, every fifth-grader in the school was on the bus, except my five charges, including my son. “Mom! How could you be so late?” “Don’t you dare be rude to a chaperone,” I snapped. We climbed aboard and were on our way to welcome the President upon his arrival. We spent the next two hours wedged against the ropes among hundreds of other fifth-graders. The noise level was deadening. I never did see the President. I herded my charges back to the bus for the hot, bumpy return to school.
Back home, I folded papers until school was out and my son bounded up to the door. “Gee, Mom. Aren’t you finished yet?” I stared him down. I’d already made 50 cents. “Answer the phone.” “Dog’s ready, Mom. I better start delivering. You keep folding.” “Ummm.” I folded automatically until the phone rang. It was my first grade daughter on the other end of the line. “Mommy, where are you? You promised to help drive our Brownie troop to the police station and fire department.” “That’s today? I’ll be right there. Just let me wash the newsprint off my hands.”
When I arrived at the Brownie meeting, five little Brownies were sitting on the steps. All the other children were loaded into cars, waiting for these five to be claimed. “Mommy, how could you be so late?” “I don’t want to discuss it. Get in the car!” With a glass-eyed fixed stare, I drove the children to their destinations and helped herd the entire troop in and out of fire engines and jail cells. By the time we arrived home, my husband was home from work. “Very busy today?” He shuffled through the mail. “Took the dog to the Poodle Parlor and we went to see the President.” “You and the dog? “Of course not. The fifth-graders. Brownies went to jail.”
“How’s that again?” “Never mind. Just read your mail.” Certain key words always get his attention. “I think you should take us all out to dinner tonight. After all, it was the first day of my paper route." After a relaxing dinner out we returned home. I propped my feet up, settled down with a glass of wine and laughed about the hectic day.
As the children prepared for bed, I heard the lilting voice of our small daughter, who always slept with the dog. “Mommy, where’s Cocoa?”
“The dog . . . ?”
###
OKAY, MOM: On Your Mark, Get Set, Go ... and Doggone! The Omaha World-Herald
It all started simply enough. I phoned the poodle groomer. “I’d like to make an appointment to have my poodle groomed. Any day next week. Yes. Wednesday will be fine.” That was also my allergy-shot day. I could just run over to the clinic after I dropped off the dog.
A few days later my son received a call from the local newspaper. His name was at the top of the list for a weekly paper route. That afternoon, a man came to our house to give my son the details of the route – 218 papers, plus circulars, to be banded and delivered every Wednesday by 6 p.m. The route would begin the following Wednesday.
“Mom,” he asked, “Will you write that on the calendar?” “Sure. Right under Cocoa’s grooming appointment and my allergy shot.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Hey, Mom. I’ll make you a deal. A penny for every two papers you fold.” “Cash?” This was an exciting possibility. If I folded enough papers, it would offset his entire allowance without his even knowing it.
“Who was that on the phone?” I asked later that evening. “School,” my husband told me. “Wanted you to chaperone a field trip for the fifth-graders next week. I told them you could.” “When?” “Wednesday.” The rest of the week I began to twitch at the mention of Wednesday.
When the alarm sounded before dawn Wednesday morning, I began the day with determination. The dog was deposited at the Poodle Parlor before the children left for school, a feat nobody in my family believed possible. I hurried to get my allergy shot, sprinted from the clinic and raced back to the house just in time to see the truck leaving a tremendous bundle of papers in the driveway. I lugged the papers into the house, leaving a trail of several hundred loose rubber bands. After rolling up my sleeves, I madly threw myself into the task, slapping together papers and circulars and banding them in record time. I worked until zero hour for the field trip to see the President.
Nobody ever told me it would take so long to wash off the newsprint from my hands and when I finally arrived at my destination, every fifth-grader in the school was on the bus, except my five charges, including my son. “Mom! How could you be so late?” “Don’t you dare be rude to a chaperone,” I snapped. We climbed aboard and were on our way to welcome the President upon his arrival. We spent the next two hours wedged against the ropes among hundreds of other fifth-graders. The noise level was deadening. I never did see the President. I herded my charges back to the bus for the hot, bumpy return to school.
Back home, I folded papers until school was out and my son bounded up to the door. “Gee, Mom. Aren’t you finished yet?” I stared him down. I’d already made 50 cents. “Answer the phone.” “Dog’s ready, Mom. I better start delivering. You keep folding.” “Ummm.” I folded automatically until the phone rang. It was my first grade daughter on the other end of the line. “Mommy, where are you? You promised to help drive our Brownie troop to the police station and fire department.” “That’s today? I’ll be right there. Just let me wash the newsprint off my hands.”
When I arrived at the Brownie meeting, five little Brownies were sitting on the steps. All the other children were loaded into cars, waiting for these five to be claimed. “Mommy, how could you be so late?” “I don’t want to discuss it. Get in the car!” With a glass-eyed fixed stare, I drove the children to their destinations and helped herd the entire troop in and out of fire engines and jail cells. By the time we arrived home, my husband was home from work. “Very busy today?” He shuffled through the mail. “Took the dog to the Poodle Parlor and we went to see the President.” “You and the dog? “Of course not. The fifth-graders. Brownies went to jail.”
“How’s that again?” “Never mind. Just read your mail.” Certain key words always get his attention. “I think you should take us all out to dinner tonight. After all, it was the first day of my paper route." After a relaxing dinner out we returned home. I propped my feet up, settled down with a glass of wine and laughed about the hectic day.
As the children prepared for bed, I heard the lilting voice of our small daughter, who always slept with the dog. “Mommy, where’s Cocoa?”
“The dog . . . ?”
###
