Duck Out of Water

Still on the fascinating subject of refrigerators, did anybody read the AP story about the hunter’s wife who opened her refrigerator to find the duck her husband shot two days ago lift up its head and look at her?

I know stranger things have happened, such as mom leaving IKEA empty-handed after spending three hours at the store, but the news report begs the following questions:

• Is this guy still married?
• Do hunters stuff game into the refrigerator without cleaning the animals first?
• Does this guy's family have to reach over carcasses to get to the tub of cream cheese in the back?
• Since said duck was alive, was he/she pooping in the fridge?

It’s stories like these that spook mom into staying vegetarian.

And here she thought our refrigerator needed cleaning because of some sambar spatters and the smell of a naked onion.

Time Wasted

It’s not often that both kids are away on a play date the same afternoon and the humans find themselves alone with free time on their hands.

Last weekend, when mom went to pick the kids up after one such play date, her friend smiled at her and said she hoped the humans had spent the afternoon productively (wink, wink; nudge, nudge).

Mom’s heart skipped a guilty beat as she wondered if most parents share a similar thought process whenever they have about five minutes of privacy.

And in case you're wondering, as I'm sure you are, with the entire afternoon to themselves, mom decided to clean the refrigerator while dad stretched out on the couch like Lord Vishnu on Anantashesha and took a nap.

Whatever happened to making hay while the sun shines?

Subliminal Love

Sweet nothings mom can never hope to hear in this lifetime:

• I’m so lucky I married you!

• Of course, I would love to spend my entire vacation with your family.

• Don’t ever lose weight, you hear me? You look beautiful just the way you are.

• Come, sit next to me. Let’s just talk.

• You look tired. Let me rub your shoulders, knead your back and massage your feet.

• Yes, dear, you’re right.

• Screw work, I just want to spend time with you.

• Don't be shy, tell me all your innermost thoughts and feelings.

• It's not your fault my underwear turned pink in the wash. Who's going to notice?

• No special reason; I called just to hear your voice.

• Spend all you want. You don't even have to ask. After all, I’m only earning for you.

• Let’s have another baby!

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What she does hear, or rather interprets, as dad's actions often speak louder than his words:

• You can always lean on me.
• I will catch you when you fall.
• I love you!

All's Well That Ends Well

A thousand apologies to all those who came here the hard way.

Anyway, now that you’ve found me, please update your bookmarks, pronto. And whatever you do, don’t click on my old URL www.terrisampat.blogspot.com, especially from work.

Driving Me Crazy

Every time Anu hums “Sexy lady on the floor ...” I cringe.

Be it in the car, in the shower, on the way to tennis, at the table or while playing with his sister, Anu unconsciously belts out the first two lines of the song at the top of his voice.

Should I take the easy way out and let him be? Or should I sit him down and explain why the word ‘sexy’ is entirely inappropriate for an 8-year-old to utter? (Whereupon he will ask me when exactly he can start using the word.)

How on earth does one explain ‘sexy’ to a child, anyhow?

Nag, Nag, Nag ...

Another weekend has passed, and our house is the only one in the neighborhood, perhaps in the entire city, with the Christmas lights still intact.

For some reason, this is bothering mom, even though she had nothing to do with actually installing the lights.

At first, mom tried telepathy. She concentrated on the bald spot on dad’s head and glared long and hard all day, hoping to somehow transfer her thoughts and motivate him off the couch.

She then tried to lead by practice, by quietly putting away the Christmas ornaments and the wreath.

Next, she tried subtlety. “You know, the kids were just saying they would love to help you take down the lights.”

When nothing worked and the days passed, she had no choice but to try a combination of all methods, including some blunt reminders, “Hello, the lights are still up!”

You’d think instead of expending so much mental effort, it might be easier for mom to just whip out the ladder and take down the darned lights herself.

She could. But why bother? She has a reputation to maintain after all.

No Post? No Time!

Each morning as I awake, my one pressing thought other than the slight pressure on my bladder is to write something today. Intracranial pressure being dangerous, I should void my thoughts instead of letting them pile in my head, bored kids on winter break be darned.

I’m sure you’re all dying to hear about my Christmas week spent in a kennel while the humans traipsed up and down the California coast praying for an earthquake free vacation while visiting family and contributing to the coffers at Disneyland and Universal Studios. Or would you rather hear about dad paying peripheral attention to the sultry hostess at Tirupathi Bhimas than to the pongal and oothapam in front of him?

Perhaps I should talk about how unnerving it was to find Hrithik’s biceps in Dhoom 2 to be somewhat larger than mom’s thighs. Or the alarm bells that went off when Anu chanced upon the cover for The 40-Year-Old Virgin and didn’t ask what the word meant.

In the interest of the new year, I think I’ll stay safe and limit myself to wishing my wonderful readers – family members (named and anonymous), friends (tangible and virtual), regulars, anons and shy lurkers - a very happy 2007!

Thank you all for stopping by a lot more regularly than I post. I'm glad some of you seem to visit more often than I go to the bathroom.

And to the person who Googled “Terri’s boobs” and landed here? Sorry to disappoint you, bud, but I keep my endowments well hidden. So well, in fact, that you might have better luck with a hirsute Akshay Kumar or Anil Kapoor.