Friday, January 22, 2010


One of my friends, thinking it would be a wonderful gag gift, gave me a copy of "The Total Woman";
this was a book brought out as a polemic against "women's liberation". Basically, the book told women to be
doormats for their husbands and to do everything to please them. As I read through it, one item piqued
my interest. It suggested that one should wrap oneself in Saran Wrap and lie waiting, seductively, on the bed
for him to arrive. I did that and I there I was, lying on my side, wrapped in Saran Wrap, with my thigh at its most advantageous angle, and when he opened the door, he asked, "Leftovers again?"

As a young bride I found it difficult to cook for just two people as I'd grown up in a family with seven brothers. My husband said that he loved meatloaf. There were obviously a lot of leftovers when I fixed a meatloaf, so I sent it for his lunch for several days. During those days, I also sent little "love notes" in his lunch box. Imagine my shock when I learned that my husband had traded his meatloaf sandwich for another guy's bologna sandwich. How did I know? He'd handed his wrapped meatloaf sandwich (with a naughty note tucked inside) to Randy and Randy had opened the sandwich, read the note, and wrote a note in return saying that he liked the meatloaf and that he'd also be glad to oblige the request in my note! I said, "Why did you trade your sandwich?" He said that he was tired of meat loaf after three days. I shrieked, "Didn't you know there was a note in there?"

He said, "You usually put them with the fruit, so I never give those away!" Years later, when I went to work at International Harvester, guess who worked for me? Yep, Randy, who never let me live down the meatloaf story!

I would usually make homemade cookies for my husband's lunch box. My brother Neil worked in the same department and he felt free to go to the lunch box and take cookies. One day, I put Oreos in the lunch box as I hadn't made any cookies that day. That evening, when I opened the lunch box, there was a note from my brother, "NO S.B. COOKIES!" I was relieved to learn that S.B. meant

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