Oh, SOMEONE’S bein’ SASSY!

So then…I figure I’d best share some o’ my Memes so you can see some of the funny stuff goin’ on over on my So Then Stories Facebook page (which you should totally follow!)

Tools Used When My Teen & I Disagree

You know that funny character in the movie...?

 

Wait - I'm in the Russian Bride Club?

 

For a Healthy (or FUN) Halloween...?

 

Parenting for the WIN!

 

Oh your belly can only support a ring?

 

Wanna make your son speechless?

And as you know — there’s a CAKE for that!
AND a PARADE!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Go ahead – make my day!  Tell me your favorite!)

Just never you MIND how I know — I JUST KNOW!

Don't ask me HOW I know -- but, oh boy, DO I KNOW!!  #funny @SoThenStories.com

So then…I capture your attention to make a crucial Public Service Announcement.

When you become a person of a certain age, and you think you might need to pee…

Go pee. Go pee right that moment.

Don’t hold it.

Don’t wait.

Don’t think, “Oh, I have time. This is just the initial tingling. My bladder’s a sturdy beast. I’ve waited much longer before I’ve really needed to go.”

And whatever you do, don’t drink more liquid while pleasantly biding your time.

Just find a restroom right away.

And take care of yo’ bidness.

At the first inkling you think you should be tinkling, just go.

Do not wait.

Because you may not make it.

*

Take my word for it.

*

Just never you mind how I know.

*

I just know.

*

It doesn’t matter how I know.

*

Omigod, why are you so obsessed with me?

*

Stop ASKING.

*

Stop LAUGHING.

*

It’s NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!

*

Just…

Just trust me.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Look, it doesn’t MATTER if I’m talking about a toddler or someone my current age. Why is that important? The advice still stands. This may not even be ABOUT me. Just mind your own beeswax. So stop asking. Shut up. No, YOU shut up.)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

Wanna Hear Some Embarrassingly Comical Classroom Blunders?

Embarrassing & True - Comical Classroom Blunders @SoThenStories.com
So then…my Saddle Oxfords swing to and fro beneath my blue plaid skirt and white blouse, as I try mightily to pay attention to the teacher at SVA – that’s St. Vincent’s Academy, the all-girls Catholic high school.

We joke that SVA stands for “Saints, Virgins & Angels.” (cough cough)

Anyway, I strain to comprehend Mr. A, our physics teacher – because honestly, all science is a mystery to me. He might as well be speaking Japanese and drawing hieroglyphics on the chalkboard for as well as I’m understanding this subject matter.

Typically, I fare pretty well academically, but in this class, I’m skating by, strictly on the basis of memorization.

So when Mr. A begins discussing resistance of electric circuits — I get super excited that I actually know the answer when he asks the class, “What does “Z” stands for?”

Without even raising my hand, I shout, “IMPOTENCE! IMPOTENCE!”

Silence.

Mr. A’s shocked face.

Giggles and guffaws from the whole class.

Apparently the correct answer is impedance (pronounced “im-peed-ins”)

IMPOTENCE is something else all together.

And back in the days that I went to high school, IMPOTENCE is not exactly a word you heard commonly bandied about in an all-girls school, especially in front of our only male teacher.

Mr. A turns bright red.

He opens his mouth to speak, but dissolves into silent laughter.

He turns away and starts again – no words came out. Just more laughter.

He tries to write something on the chalkboard, but he laughs so hard, his hand shakes.

He tries yet another time to speak, but cannot contain his mirth.

Blessedly, the bell rings for lunch and we girls scuttle out of the classroom.

(Much later, Mr. A tells me that he went to the Teacher’s Lounge to eat his lunch and kept bursting into silent fits of laughter, while the other teachers looked at him oddly.)

I have no idea if Mr. A knows someone who suffers from that particular bedroom issue – or whether he just thinks IMPOTENCE is a hysterically incorrect answer for impedance, but I’m glad to provide him with such a hearty chuckle!

Of course, nowadays, formerly forbidden language is tossed around in daily discussion: “What’s with all the bathtubs in those erectile dysfunction commercials? Which reminds me, when you’re at the store for chips and salsa, pick up condoms. Great, thanks, pass the salt please.”

But back in my high school days, especially at a Catholic all-girls school, one simply did not talk about such things!

In fact, at our Junior Talent Show, my classmate and I served as co-MCs, so we’d take turns telling jokes as we introduced the acts.

On the first night, my co-MC asked the audience, “How can you recognize Ronald McDonald at a nudist colony?” Answer: “By his sesame seed buns!” Huge laugh.

But the school notified her that her MC services wouldn’t be needed on the second night!

Seriously! Booted from the show for a buns joke!

Four years later, my little sister Della served as MC for the SVA Junior Talent Show. In her enthusiasm, she stumbled on her words and announced to the whole auditorium of students, siblings, parents, teachers, and nuns:

“At intermission, please join us in the lobby for cocks and cookies.”

Cokes.

She meant Cokes.

Not cocks.

I never saw the nuns run so fast. To the lobby.

Ha, OK, kidding. The nuns did not run to the lobby – and they were not amused by my sister’s faux pas. But even they had to admit it was merely a mistake – and not a deliberate offer of penises. (peni?)

So between my sister’s cocks and my impotence, we’re obviously fabulous role models!

— Darcy Perdu

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(What words are commonplace now that you’d never have dreamed of uttering in the classroom when you were a kid? Ever embarrass yourself with a funny mispronunciation or wrong word?)

Perfectly Reasonable — or Daddy’s Double Standard?

So then…my husband David suggests that we try to eat dinner around 5:30 pm every day, otherwise our kids (age 3 & 5) tend to get a little hanky (hungry-cranky).

Good idea. So we follow that schedule.

Cut to three weeks later:

I let David know that I need to work late this evening. No problem, he says.

I come home at 7:30 pm to a completely clean kitchen.

Awesome! He must have fed the kids, then cleaned up afterwa—

Wait a minute.

I enter the family room where the kids and he are watching TV.

I greet everyone – hugs, kisses – and inquire about their days.

Then, when the kids are out of earshot…

Me:  Did you feed the kids?

Him: Oh. Nah. (shrugs) They didn’t seem hungry.

Me:  They said they weren’t hungry?

Him: I didn’t ask them. They just didn’t seem hungry.

Me:  They didn’t SEEM hungry? You mean they weren’t writhing on the floor, clutching their bellies, begging for sustenance? They didn’t faint of malnutrition right in front of you? They didn’t collapse in front of the refrigerator with their tiny little fingers clawing at the door? OK, let’s just not feed them until they SEEM hungry. That sounds like a splendid plan!

He grins at my melodramatic contortions, but still attempts a lame, “Well, it’s OK to miss a meal once in awhile…”

Uh-huh. Hmmm. How interesting that the “once in awhile” happens to coincide with the one night I’m working late and he’s in charge of feeding them.

So if I’m around, dinner should be at 5:30 – but when he’s at the helm, dinner should be when the tykes send him an engraved invitation?

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great Dad – and usually pretty helpful with the kids – but this time, it’s a bit of a double standard, right?

Or do I just need to train my kids to pound their silverware on the table and chant “FOOD, FOOD, FOOD!” like li’l prison convicts when they’re hungry?
Hmm, seems like a Daddy Double Standard if you ask ME -- but YOU decide! #funny @SoThenStories.com
— Darcy Perdu

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(Any double standards at YOUR house with YOUR spouse? Lay it on us!)

Who’s Singin’ the “How the Hell Is This School Project Gettin’ Done in Time” Blues?

So then…both my kids announce brand new huge projects that must be completed before the school year ends — which is just a couple weeks away — and I suspect these projects weren’t assigned today.

Of course, this reminds me of the School Project to End All School Projects, so I’ll share this here just in case any of you are singin’ the “How the Hell Is This School Project Gettin’ Done in Time” Blues!

That Special Joy When Another Mom Notifies You Just How Oblivious Your Kid Is -- Honestly, are ALL kids procrastinators or do some kids have a special knack for being COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS? SoThenStories.com #funny

So then…she nibbles the walnut brownie I baked and comments on how nicely Tucker and her son Andrew, both age 11, are playing basketball in our backyard.

I beam. This is the first time Linda’s son has come over.  (I’d even tidied up the house and baked some “get-to-know-you” brownies.)

“They’ve had a great afternoon,” I say. “Thanks for letting Andrew come home with us after school. Tucker’s really enjoyed hanging out with him.”

Linda nods, picks up Andrew’s backpack, and heads for the patio door to collect her son. She says, “Yeah, I almost had to cancel though, because Andrew hadn’t made enough progress on his International Fair project yet. But he did a lot last night, so he’s in pretty good shape.”

My pulse quickens. What International Fair project? I ask.

She looks at me as though I’m joking. “The one that’s due Monday.”

Today is Friday.

“Oh, is that, like an optional project, like for a Science Fair, or something?” I ask hopefully.

She turns to me, backpack on her shoulder, and says, “No, this is the big 6th grade History project they’ve supposed to have been working on all semester. Surely Tucker’s told you about it?”

I’m sure I’m turning bright red from embarrassment – and bright white from panic.

“Um, no, he hasn’t mentioned it. What’s due on Monday?”

Well, now she sets the backpack down and turns her attention completely toward me, and braces herself to tell me some very bad news.

“OK, each child picks a country, then they need to write a report on 6 topics of that country, like climate, cuisine, politics, religion, stuff like that.”

I gulp.  Sweat forms on my brow.

International Fair Darcy Concern
“Each report has to be typed up and pasted on a tri-fold poster board with artwork and photos,” she continues.

“Well, um, OK,” I stammer. “I..I think we can work on that this weekend. I can run to the crafts store for the poster board. We can probab-“

“Get the flag materials there too,” she interrupts.

“There’s a flag?” I ask.

“Yes, and a costume.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes, this is why they gave the kids all semester to work on it! They need to make that country’s flag out of fabric and put it on a stick because they’ll carry it in the procession. Then they also need to wear a costume that’s native to the country – it can be homemade, or maybe you have a friend or family member who has something from that country, or—“

She stops as she sees me sit down, about to hyperventilate.

I whisper, “I don’t even know what his country is.”

She winces.

International Fair Linda Explains
“OK, look, I hate to keep going, but you should know the kids also need to cook an authentic dish from their country.” She blurts it out very quickly like she’s ripping off a band-aid. “And they need to have enough bite-size servings for 40 students because all the 6th graders and their parents are invited to the International Fair – which is Monday.” Then super-fast she says, “And it’s 25% of their grade.”

She picks up the backpack again and turns toward the patio door. She looks back at me and I see indecision on her face. Should she flee the scene? Grab her son and run away, kissing him all over for having the good sense to tell her about the International Fair project months ago?

Or should she stay and comfort a fallen comrade in the Mommy Wars?

Please, my eyes beg her. Don’t abandon me. Explain more about this International Fair of which you speak. Help me, guide me, tell me my son’s frikking country, something, anything, for God’s sake. What’s your son’s country? Can our sons choose the same country? Can my son join your son and share his flag and his tri-fold and his cuisine? I beg of you…

Of course I don’t say any of those words out loud. But she can see them in my eyes. So she pats me on the shoulder, opens the patio door, and calls for Andrew.

The boys come running in. Linda says a nervous goodbye to an oblivious Tucker, hastily thanks me, hustles Andrew out the door, and snags another brownie on her way out.

Bitch. She annihilates me AND still has time to take a treat?

I shouldn’t have thought that. Of course she’s not a bitch. Why shoot the messenger when there is somebody much more appropriate to receive my wrath?

As the front door closes, I turn to Tucker, narrow my eyes, and ask in a chillingly low voice, “Did you know there was an International Fair project due on Monday?”

He stuffs a brownie bite in his mouth and says brightly, “Yeah, but it’s like a Science Fair or something – it’s optional.

I grip the handles of the chair. “Tucker.It.Is.Not.Optional.It.Is.25%.Of.Your.Grade!”

He shrugs, says, “Huh,” and takes another bite.

I look at him with wonder that this truly carefree child emanated from the womb of a Type A hyper-organized, compulsive pre-planner like myself.

“Linda said the teachers have been talking about this International Fair all semester. Did you think they would spend that much time talking about an optional project?” I ask.

He screws up his face and lifts his shoulders in a gesture of Hey, who knows what’s on the minds of those crazy teachers?

International Fair Tucker Shrugging
I take a breath. “Tucker,” I say. “Do you even know what country you have? And if you chose a country, what did you think you were choosing it FOR, since you thought the project was optional?

He finishes the last bite of the brownie and says, “Oh yeah, I chose Mexico. I thought it was like ‘Hey, where would you like to visit if you could pick any country?’ And I picked Mexico because I love Mexican food.”

“Well, I’m glad you do, Tucker. I’m glad you do. Because you are going to be making Mexican food all weekend. And a flag and a costume and 6 reports! YOU ARE GOING TO BE ALL MEXICO ALL THE TIME FOR THE NEXT 48 HOURS!!”

And thus began one of the most painful, stressful weekends in the history of school projects.

Ay Caramba!

International Fair Tucker Color
— Darcy Perdu

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Original Illustrations for So Then Stories created by Shelly at Shell Graphics

(Any projects that snuck up on you or your kids? Any surprise tests? Or how about the “oh-yeah-I-need-36-cupcakes-for-school-tomorrow-Mom” at 9:00 at night? Share your Stories and Comments below! I LOVE to read them!)

International Fair Hearing the News Color

Do I Embarrass Myself in Front of Celebrities? Why Yes, Yes I Do!

Backstage Bungle -- funny & embarrassing story!  @SoThenStories

So then…I confess that I neglected to share a rather embarrassing tale from my recent trip to Vegas with my two teen kids and their three pals.

Oh sure, I shared our shenanigans and hypnotized hilarity – but of course, no trip is complete without my own personal embarrassment…

THE BACKSTAGE BUNGLE
Our friend arranges for us to see a comedian friend of his, so the teens and I get awesome free seats and an opportunity to meet the comedian backstage afterwards.

The show’s hilarious! We love it!

Afterwards, an usher brings us to an attractive guy named Jim who’s the comedian’s assistant or road manager or something. He takes us backstage to a waiting room, then into the comedian’s dressing room.

The kids and I greet the comedian and thank him for the seats.

While the kids are talking to the comedian, I go off to the side with Jim. I gesture toward the kids with my Iphone and whisper to him, “Do you think it’s OK if I take a picture?”

“Sure!” he says, “That’s flattering!”

“Oh, OK,” I say shyly. “I never know. I don’t want to ask a celeb for a photo if it’s too pushy or something.”

“Not at all!” says Jim, smiling. “I’m happy to take a photo with them. They probably won’t know who I am though!”

Huh?

I look at him strangely. They won’t know who you are? I don’t know who you are, either!

So I’m looking at this Jim guy totally confused, when suddenly –

LIGHTBULB!

Oh, damn. Now I remember! The comedian mentioned during the show that his friend was in the audience – a singer from a popular boy band in the late 90’s.

Oh, damn, damn, damn. Jim’s not the comedian’s assistant! He’s the friend – who’s also a celeb! And he thinks I’m asking for HIS picture!

I quickly try to recover gracefully, nodding my head enthusiastically, like yes yes that’s exactly what I intended all along please by all means get in this photo you delicious little former boy-bander you!

So then follows a horribly awkward photo shoot where I’m directing my kids and their friends to all smush together in pics with the comedian and the hottie 90’s singer-dancer.

Argh!

Could I just make it through ONE WEEK without embarrassing myself?

Nope.

As we leave the theater, walking along, I stop dead in my tracks and gasp!

Because now I remember something that makes me wince with fresh new embarrassment.

Before we went to the comedian’s dressing room, about 10 of us were squeezed into a tiny waiting room — me, the 5 teens with me, a few friends of the comedian, and Jim.

Jim was standing and the rest of us were sitting on two benches facing each other – smashed in so close, our knees were touching the people seated opposite us!

After awhile, conversation petered out a bit, so one of the adults said, “We need some entertainment while we’re waiting” and someone said something to Jim like, “Are you humming over there?”

He grinned — so I asked, “Oh, do you sing?” in that tone of voice you use when you discover someone who has one job — has just been revealed to have another talent.

Like the tone of voice I’d use if my plumber glanced longingly at my piano and I said with a tinge of surprise, “Oh, do you play?”

I was thinking, “Oh, Jim the assistant also happens to sing.  That’s cool.”

And when I asked “Oh, do you sing?” — Jim and the others laughed which I took to mean “Good God, no!” which is the same response I’d give – because I’m a dreadful singer (even the nuns say so).

Just then, the door opened and we filed out to the comedian’s dressing room.  One of the women smiled at me and murmured, “That’s a good one.”

NOW it all makes sense. She and the others thought I KNEW Jim was a famous former boy bander so they interpreted my question to be “faux innocent” – like I was ribbing him or teasing him!

Like batting my eyelashes and asking Kobe Bryant, “Oh, do you play ball?”
Or asking Meryl Streep, “Oh, do you act?”
Asking Miley Cyrus, “Oh, do you twerk?”
Asking that old Vatican guy with the funny hat, “Oh, are you religious?”

So Jim and the other adults all thought I was being clever and coy and maybe even flirtatious!

But I was just being completely clueless – which, I suppose, is its own special talent.

Embarrassing myself being yet another special talent I possess.

So, former boy bander, if you ever read this post – just know that you’re still smokin’ hot and I’d love to hear you croon anytime, baby!

— Darcy Perdu

PS I changed his name for this post so as not to embarrass him – or myself – any further!

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(Ever embarrassed yourself in front of a celeb? Do you know all the 90’s boy banders by sight?)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

Hypnotism and Humiliation: Vegas-Style!

Hypnotism & Humiliation - Vegas Style
So then…I take my two teens and their three pals on an educational Spring Break trip to Washington DC to learn more about our nation’s politics.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Are you kidding me?

I take ‘em to Vegas!

You can click here for Part 1 of our shenanigans –

And now for Part 2 –

HYPNOTIST SHOW

My teens, Chloe and Tucker, and their pals want to see a Hypnotist Show, so we head over to the Marc Savard show at the V Theater.

I glance about skeptically as we file in and sit down.

The hypnotist starts speaking. I cross my arms.

I don’t believe in hypnotism.

The hypnotist tells the audience that lots of people think they don’t believe in hypnotism.

(Well, he’s psychic at least! That’s exactly what I’m thinking!)

The hypnotist says that’s like saying, “I don’t believe in gravity,” but it still exists. “Hypnotism exists whether you believe or not.”

I smirk. No such thing. His “volunteers” will obviously be plants – people he hired to pretend to be hypnotized.

He calls for volunteers from the audience. My son’s friend Marco stands up. WHAT!?

Marco goes on stage, gets hypnotized with the other volunteers — and starts following the commands of the hypnotist — tapping, standing, snoring, squirming, making funny faces, reacting to imaginary snakes, and RIVER DANCING!

Yes – RIVER DANCING! – 18-year-old tall, cool Marco is kicking his Irish Jig legs all akimbo, enthusiastically strutting and popping heel-toe-heel-toe, sideways kick!

So unless Marco is secretly on this hypnotist’s payroll, I guess hypnotism IS real?

Mind blown.

We’re all laughing hysterically at the antics on stage.

The hypnotist convinces one volunteer that she’s wildly in love with him – and convinces another that she’s repulsed by him.

He hypnotizes a huge muscular guy to respond to every shoulder tap by breaking down into sobs and hugging whoever’s closest to him!

He tells them all that a belt is a snake, so when he approaches with the belt and a hiss, they all flip the flip out!

Then the hypnotist brings out a STRIPPER POLE and invites the volunteers to AUDITION!

My son and I exchange a look. A look that says, “This is about to get REALLY awkward.”

Nothing like watching your guy friend attempt sultry stripper moves in front of your Mom. Not to mention the rest of the audience.

If he performs really badly – it’s embarrassing.

If he performs really well – it’s even more disturbing!

Should I storm the stage and rescue my teen charge? Should I just avert my eyes?

Who suggested this damn show? Why aren’t we doing something respectable like visiting the MGM lions?

Fortunately, the hypnotist is playing the scene for laughs – so he quickly taps the “strippers” if they start to take their audition a little too seriously.

And believe me, some of these volunteers tackle this task with a gusto and passion that’ll make your eyes bleed!

The audience is dying laughing – Marco’s looking like he’s having a great time – and yes OF COURSE we pay the $20 bucks for the DVD of tonight’s show so that we have Marco Blackmail Material for many years to come!

(Perfect wedding reception video, don’t ya think?)

All in all, we have an absolute blast swimming, sightseeing, dining, and enjoying shows. We love us some Vegas!

Of course, about 3 hours into the drive home to LA, Marco realizes that the $120 cash he put in the room safe for safekeeping was still safely IN the safe!!

As we call Lost & Found, I can’t help wondering if the hypnotist hypnotized Marco to leave the money there — and secretly extracted the safe code from Marco so he could recover the money himself!

Hmm…googling “How to become a hypnotist” right now!

— Darcy Perdu

UPDATE!  Because the internet is a miraculous place, my blogging friend Jessica Ziegler of hilarious Science of Parenthood saw this story and said she KNOWS hypnotist Marc Savard – then HE commented too!     Hypnotism (Facebook comments)

If you enjoyed this post, receive NEW funny posts by subscribing HERE!

(Do YOU believe in hypnotism? Can I BECOME a hypnotist so I can make business colleagues bend to my will & make my kids clean their rooms & make hot celebs fall in love with me? What would you do with YOUR hypnotism powers?)

For hilarious tales from the front lines of parenting — and my story of the most embarrassing thing I’ve EVER done — buy this rockin’ new book, I STILL Just Want to Pee Alone!
I Still Just Want To Pee Alone at Amazon.com




Click the Buy Now button for an autographed copy mailed right to your door!

Eject the Pervert!

Ejecting the Pervert from NYC bus!  A funny tale of bravery and bedlam!  #funny @SoThenStories.com

So then…my sister glares at the stranger with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, telepathically conveying, “Someone’s getting’ thrown from this bus – and it ain’t gonna be me, buddy!”

Let me back up.

My darling sister Dawn is visiting me in New York City for the first time, along with her husband.

We’re all in our 20’s and I’m so excited to show off the city I’ve called home a couple years now.

I take them to:

Stunning museums!
Fabulous Broadway shows!
International restaurants!
Cool dance clubs!
And world-renowned landmarks!

And for ever after, when people ask her about her first trip to Manhattan, does she share those wondrous sights, sounds, and experiences?

Nope.

She shares this story:

Dawn, her husband, and I take the subway from midtown Manhattan all the way downtown to Battery Park for a huge 4th of July festival.

All day and night, New Yorkers make their way down to the harbor to see the ships and fireworks.

It’s a blast!

But then the event’s over. And all those hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers want to go home UPTOWN right now.

Like RIGHT NOW.

Naturally the mass transit system can’t handle ALL of us at once, so we walk in big massive sweaty throngs from subway entrance to subway entrance, hoping to find one that’s open. But they’re all packed from overcrowding.

Finding a taxi is laughable and traffic ain’t moving anyway.

We consider waiting it out, but late night in Battery Park’s a bit sketchy.

The crack ho’s and meth heads are puzzled why their ‘hood’s mobbed with anxious Uptown preppies. “Get out the way, preppies. You’re harshing our mellow.”

So we trudge onward, desperate for any mode of transportation.

FINALLY we see a bus. It is full. We board anyway.

Every inch of space is taken with tired cranky people in various degrees of inebriation.

In the mayhem, the three of us are separated as we stand in the aisle squeezed amongst tons of other people.

As the bus inches its way uptown, we hear some murmuring, annoyed tsking, and a couple “Hey!s” from the right side of the bus.

My sister’s on that side of the bus — but her husband’s in the back and I’m on the far left, so we can’t really see what’s happening.

We find out later from my sister that there’s a man who is…how do I say…slightly tipsy? intoxicated? – ok, SMASHED OUT OF HIS EVER-LIVIN’ MIND!

Apparently, this big tall guy decides to lean into the women standing next to him – and I mean LEEEEEAN into them.

He wants to share his Rocket Pocket and NO ONE is buying. As soon as he leans his pelvicular area into some girl or woman, they push him away, but he just gets gropey elsewhere.

Passengers complain to the bus driver, who says, “I’m not allowed to leave my seat – can someone back there help out!?”

Lots of mumbling, but no action.

Bus keeps moving; the drunk guy keeps leaning his Joy Junk into the women near him. People are telling him to cut it out but he just shouts belligerently. He’s bobbing and swaying – and lunges in my direction.

My sister Dawn – my sweet petite darling sister who wouldn’t hurt a fly says, “That’s it, buddy, you’re OUTTA here!”

He laughs. She shouts, “Off the bus!” He turns away. She calls to the driver, “Stop the bus! This guy’s gettin’ off.”

The guy curses and moves away from her, squeezing into the crowd in front of him.

MY SISTER FOLLOWS HIM.

She keeps telling him, “Off the bus. Off the bus, buddy.”

He resists. She follows and starts tapping him on the shoulder! He’s at least a foot taller than her! It’s like David poking Goliath.

She’s nudging him toward the exit. He resists and curses.

She perseveres.

Her husband and I are in shock – we’re separated from her by about 30 people in each direction. We can’t even reach her to help her!

She keeps prodding him closer and closer to the exit. People try to squeeze out of the way to give them a tiny path to stumble through.

Now he’s in that little step well next to the doors, but hanging on for dear life. He does NOT want to exit the bus.

The driver stops the bus and pushes the door’s auto-open button. My sister keeps nudging the guy, pushing him politely but firmly in the back, saying, “You need to get off the bus now, go home – go home, guy” – and finally shoves him out the door!

THE BUS ERUPTS INTO HUGE CHEERS!

The driver quickly pushes the auto-close button, drives up a couple blocks, stops the bus, stands up and says,

“Men! You oughta be ashamed of yourselves! I legally can’t leave my seat or lay hands on any passenger! I can’t believe you let that tiny little girl throw that drunk pervert off the bus! You should’ve helped her!” Then he turns to my sister and says, “Good job, young lady. I thank you – we all do!”

And the bus claps and cheers for my sister again – and all the men look a bit sheepish – and honestly, the ones who were close enough to that section of the bus could have helped a bit –

But hey, hell hath no fury like my sister when someone’s shoving their unwelcome boy toy willy-nilly into a crowd!

And ya know what? That’s a helluva better First-Trip-to-New-York story than some dusty ol’ museum recap!

Go Dawn! Girl Power for the Win!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Do you agree the stories of what went wrong are often more memorable than what went right? Any tales of bravery to share?)

Tiny Bite-Size Funny True Stories

So then…I figure your holidays are so hectic and alcohol-fueled, you probably only have time for some VERY SHORT funny stories, so I compiled:

THE BEST OF THE BEST
OF THE SHORTEST
SO THEN STORIES

Some of these sparkly little gems will probably be NEW to you — and they’re less than 400 words each — so gobble them up quickly, and rage on with your fabulous holiday shenanigans!

Click here for How to Shock Everyone during your Wedding Vows:

How to Shock Everyone During Your Wedding Vows #funny #wedding #vows #bride #groom #humor #marriage

Click here for Human Head Found Where?
This news article is cracking me up - look how they describe this bizarre event! #funny #strange #humor

Click here for
What is Mark Hiding?

What is Mark hiding? Mark: Why do you ask? (Hmm, methinks he doth protest too much...) #funny
Click here for Um…is She Hitting on Me?

Boom-Chicka-Wow-Wow!  Is She HITTING on Me?  #funny #treadmill #stairs #humor

Click here for Vaginas on Parade:

Vaginas on Parade!  #funny #parade #holiday #humor

If you enjoy these posts, please consider subscribing by email since Facebook is changing their algorithm again, so you probably won’t see my posts there even if you follow So Then Stories FB page!

Subscribe HERE for a couple FUNNY new posts per week!

Thanks and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

— Darcy Perdu

(Do you have any funny stories to share about weddings, day drinking, musical-treadmilling, human heads, or Vagina Parades?!)

Tiny Bite-Size Funny True Stories - Deliciously Funny! @sothenstories

Hey, Remember That Time We…

So then…we wake the kids by bellowing, “Dizzz-neee-laaaaaaand!”

8:00 am

Remember 180 8 am

They pop right out of bed, super excited to return to their favorite place. Chloe, age 5, and Tucker, age 8, get dressed and hustle downstairs for breakfast.

We live in LA, so it’s only 1.5 hours to drive to Anaheim to Disneyland. We pack up the minivan, ensuring our backpack contains all 832 essentials for surviving a long day at the park – and off we go!

9:00 am

Remember 900 new black new 180 180

We’re zipping along the 101 Freeway.

Zip! Zip! Zip!
Zap! Zaaaap. Zaaaaaap.
Zerp.
STOP.

What the hell?

We were careening down this freeway, and now we’ve STOPPED DEAD, smack dab in the middle of a 6-lane gridlock, with cars stretching as far as the eye can see.

How did this happen so fast? It’s like someone sent a mass group text to every driver in California with an urgent message: “Hop in car! Rush to 101 Freeway! Surround the Perdu Family Vehicle. Ensure no escape!”

And BAM!
EVERYBODY WHO HAS EVER LIVED IN CALIFORNIA IS NOW ON THE FREEWAY WITH US!

David and I slowly turn our heads to look at each other.

His eyes say: “Let’s cut our losses, go home, and watch football.”

My eyes say, “Yes! Abort! Abort the mission! Turn around and go home!”

Then we turn to look at Tucker and Chloe in the back seat happily chatting about which Disneyland rides they’re most excited about riding.

We slowly turn back to look at each other.

Now my eyes say beseechingly, “We must go! Look how excited they are!”

His eyes say, “Football.”

“No, David, we have to keep going,” I say out loud. “It’s just a little traffic! It’ll be fine.”

9:30 am

Remember 180 930 am

He agrees – but it’s quickly evident that the 1.5 hour trip’s going to be a 3 hour trip.

Unspoken tensions are running high – but with each mile, it seems crazy to turn back – so we push valiantly onward.

We hit the parking lot, which is bulging with cars. Honestly, did EVERYONE decide to go to Disneyland today?

12:30 pm

Remember 180 1230 blue clock

After an excruciating hunt for a parking spot, we finally disembark the car to find the shuttle to take us to the park.

We wait an hour for the shuttle.

Let’s say that again just so we fully appreciate the agony of standing there after a long car ride:

We wait an hour for the shuttle.

Finally! We hop aboard and head to the entrance.

I’m overly cheerful to compensate for the flagging spirits of my crew. Grinning broadly, I say, “Won’t this be fun!? We had a little bit of a late start, but now we’re here and we’re gonna have a blast!”

1:30 pm

Remember 180 130 pm

The shuttle drops us off at the entrance, which is obscured by engorged lines of people snaking out in all directions.
Just as we approach, the intercom announces, “I’m sorry, folks, Disneyland is full. No more entries today.”

Full?

FULL?

What do you mean Disneyland is FULL?

We just spent 4 hours to get here! And what about all the people who FLEW to get here? And all the people who saved for months for this trip to pay for your stupid crappy $6 hot dogs and $16 Mickey hats! How dare you shutter your doors!? What about the children? What…about…sob…the childrennnnnn?

(I’m in full meltdown mode — but my kids are actually taking the disappointment pretty well. David is another matter altogether. I can actually see him squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating fiercely — trying desperately to time travel back to that point on the freeway when we could’ve abandoned the mission and returned home.)

“I’m hungry,” says Chloe.

“Me too,” says Tucker.

I’m starving.

David and I look to the left. Literally thousands of dejected people are leaving the park entrance to line up for the shuttles.

We look to the right. Thousands more are walking to the souvenir shops and restaurants just outside Disneyland.

We look at the backpack. Its snacks were depleted long ago on our long-ass car ride.

We look at the children. They appear edible.

That will solve everything. I will eat my children.

They will satisfy my hunger and I won’t have to deal with their disappointment about missing Disneyland.

I’m just about to explain my plan to David when he points toward the shops and restaurants.

“It’ll take us hours to get back to our car and find someplace to eat, so we might as well line up over here,” he says.

We reluctantly join the huddled masses, yearning to be fed – shuffling from restaurant to restaurant looking for a line that looks to be less than a 2-hour wait.

3:30 pm

Remember 330 brown

Out of desperation, we finally settle on a pizza place which is so packed we have to eat our cold cheese slices standing up between hordes of other families standing up, eating their cold cheese slices.

All the adults look a bit dazed. Like, “How did this happen?” We all expected a spectacular day at the Magic Kingdom — and now we’re standing in line for almost 2 hours just to get a slice of crappy pizza.

Then we trudge back to the shuttle line, wait an hour and a half, walk a million miles to our car, then drive with 4 billion people on the freeway through rush hour traffic, and finally reach home where we collapse – as exhausted as though we’d just climbed the Himalayas.

9:00 pm

Remenber 180 900 green new

Our roundtrip is 12 agonizing hours.

We promise the kids we’ll return to Disneyland soon – and we do – and it’s wonderful and glorious and all the things it’s supposed to be.

As for today? Well, today is the day we refer to as:

“Hey, remember that time we drove 12 hours for pizza? Ah. Good times. Good times.”

— Darcy Perdu

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(Do you have an example of a “Hey, remember that time we…” experience? Something fun that ended up NOT so fun?  Ever show up someplace that was “full” or “closed?”)

Ah, good times (NOT!) - hilarious true tale of a trip gone awry #funny #Disney

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Family Dinner Fiasco: Comedy AND Tragedy in 3 Short Funny Acts

So then…I’m literally so excited about this lasagna I’m making, I text a photo to show the family how amazing dinner’s going to be!

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #lasagna #humor

LOOK! Warm and delicious homemade food! Yahoo!

Everyone has a generous helping and agrees it’s scrumptious — and I’m even more excited that we’ll have leftovers for the next night! Double Yahoo! No cooking! Just heating up! I’m a fabulous heater-upper!

So the next night, I’m in my home office when my daughter Chloe, age 15, texts me from the dining room to ask, “Will you please rub my back while I’m doing homework?”

Now before you accuse me of potentially spoiling my daughter, I can assure you, she’s ALREADY spoiled! That train left the station a long time ago, my friends. As I’ve mentioned, I’d be a much better mother if I had 6 kids like my pal, but I only have 2, so I spoil them 3 times as much.

Besides, Chloe may be a bit spoiled, but she’s also pretty awesome, loving, funny, smart, and helpful.

And she handles her academic career completely on her own – and makes A’s – so if you give me a choice between actually helping her DO the Chemistry homework vs. just rubbing her back a few minutes while SHE does the Chemistry homework – I think you can guess what this mama’d rather do.

So I text “Sure,” then walk through the kitchen, figuring I’ll take the luscious lasagna out of the fridge on my way to the dining room.

But just as I pull the tray out, it pings the side of the fridge, DROPS

and SHATTERS INTO A MILLION PIECES –

ONTO MY BELOVED WOOD FLOOR!

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #lasagna #humor

I’m devastated!

I don’t know what’s more distressing:

The loss of our delicious home-cooked meal –
The loss of my favorite glass serving dish –
The marks on my cherished wood floor –
Or
The fact I now have to SWEEP.

I glance desperately at the lasagna on the ground. 5 second rule? Can I just scoop it up quickly? “Hey, family, just eat around the glass shards!”

I huff and puff, stomping off to retrieve the broom and dustpan – colorful profanities spewing in my wake.

Just as I round the corner back into the kitchen — I hear a click, a giggle, and the tiny pitter-patter of footsteps fleeing the scene.

“CHLOE! Did you just take a PICTURE of my floor lasagna!?!?!”

From the other room: *Giggle* “No, Mom, what’re you talking about?”

“CHLOE! Are you texting and Tweeting and Instagramming this!?!”

From the other room: *Snort Giggle* “No! Of course not!”

“OMIGOD, CHLOE, THIS IS NOT FUNNY!”

From the other room: *Muffled laughter* “I know, I know. Do you need any *laugh* help?”

“NO! Just stay there. You’ll just cut up your feet and then I’ll have to take you to the hospital!” I say, in my Angry Martyr voice. Far better for me to clean this up myself — and make everyone else feel guilty about it.

Of course, I DO see the humor in it, so naturally, I snap a pic and post it on Facebook to generate some sympathy. Several people post compassionate words and similar mishaps — and my cyber-buddy Don Re posts, “The lasagna looks a bit dry anyway. Is that helpful?” And perversely enough, that DOES make me feel better.

But now I have nothing to serve for dinner and I want someone to deliver some GOTT-DAMN homemade lasagna to my front door!

Just then I get a text from Chloe saying, “Um…about that back rub…?”

I text back, “Too soon! Give me a minute to mourn, for God’s sake!”

So she texts me this:

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #card #humor

What a wise ass.

I head to the kitchen and holler, “I don’t have time for backrubs! Now I have to MAKE DINNER!”

We don’t have much in the way of ingredients, so I whip this together:

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #Elvis #humor

Inspired Brilliance – or a Cry for Help?

(I actually ate this the other day and IT.WAS.DEEE-LICIOUS.)

I’m definitely making these for my Dinner with Elvis in the After Life. I’ll be like, “Look, El, peanut butter and banana sandwiches are so 1969. The kids today are rockin’ it with Candy Corn.” I know he’ll dig it.

Meanwhile, the mere mortals down here are none too impressed.

So I stuff some ham and cheese in those little crescent rolls and call it a day.

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #rolls #humor

As for Mama — this is MY dinner:

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #icecream #humor

And well-deserved, if I do say so myself.

— Darcy Perdu
(She of many skills, but much maligned for her comical cooking incompetence.)

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(Any kitchen mishaps to make me feel better about mine? What else pairs nicely with peanut butter? What dishes will you cook with YOUR fave celebs & historical figures in the After Life?)

Just as I slide my HOMEMADE lasagna out, it shatters in a million pieces and triggers a family fiasco! #funny #dinner #comedy #tragedy #humor

Is My Coworker ACTUALLY a Robot? You Decide

I SWEAR This Guy in My Office is a Robot - Do You Agree? #funny #office #robot #humor

So then…Lou (our Finance VP), Henry (our Operations VP), and I approach the gate just in time to hear that our connecting flight home is delayed 30 minutes.

My face crumples in frustration.

Lou’s face twitches in aggravation.

Henry’s face is expressionless because he is a robot.

No, seriously, I have long suspected Henry is not actually human. Always punctual. Never goofs around. Follows all the rules. Never shows emotion. Always approaches problems logically.

Totally serious and buttoned-up. I’m pretty sure he has an Iphone app to schedule his poops.

When the Sales & Marketing crew and I are hootin’ and hollerin’ and carryin’ on, Henry steadfastly ignores us and quietly does his work.

When Lou’s Finance team is stressin’ and sweatin’ over the budget numbers, Henry methodically completes his tasks.

When the salty sailors among us spout profanity at missed shipments or demanding clients, Henry piously looks away to continue his duties.

When we take a longer lunch to celebrate a huge purchase order, Henry remains in his office, writing another Policy & Procedure (most likely regarding maximum time allowed for celebratory lunch breaks.)

He is robot or he is Vulcan. I swear by it.

So now the 3 of us have 30 minutes to indulge in WHATEVER WE WANT — so we quickly scatter, agreeing to meet back at a central table in the food court.

After 2 boring days at the corporate conference and several hours on the first flight, I know what I’m craving – but I can’t locate any hot pilots in an empty travel lounge –

So I settle for second best – the ice cream kiosk. Come to mama, you sweet, creamy bowl of devilish deliciousness!

I plop down at the table with my over-the-top hot fudge sundae just as Finance Lou approaches with his little luxury – a stiff drink. A double, no less!

As I inhale my sugary carbs and Lou savors his liquor, I can only imagine what constitutes a “guilty pleasure” for Henry.

And here he comes, with a roast beef sandwich with lettuce on whole wheat bread.

Well, of course.

He chooses something nutritious and appropriate.

He is a robot.

Just as I’m laughing to myself about our choices, Henry reaches down into his briefcase and pulls out…a small bottle of HOT SAUCE!

(He travels with his own bottle of HOT SAUCE?)

He slathers the spicy sauce all over his sandwich, takes a huge bite and beams — hot sauce dribbling down his chain.

Ahhh, Henry, you’ve restored my faith in your humanity.

Perhaps you are not a robot after all!

— Darcy Perdu

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(OK, quick, you’ve got 30 extra minutes at the airport – what do you do? Massage kiosk? Those weird oxygen bars? Book/magazine? Favorite food or alcohol? Horny flight attendant? Do tell!)

FUNNY NEW BOOK FEATURING SOME OF MY BUDDIES!

Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness Book

If you like funny stories about the tumultuous trials and tribulations of motherhood, this is the book for you!  Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness, edited by Lisa Nolan, features some awesome writers and hilarious tales.  Read Lisa’s post to learn more about this new book!

You’ll enjoy awesome stories like Why Moms Are Too Tired for Sex (Lisa Nolan), 10 Reasons Why a Sleepover Sucks: A Cautionary Tale (Kathryn Leehane), Into the Wee Small Hours of the Morning (Kathy Radigan), Bedtime is Sucky Time (Kate Hall), Sleepless in Menopausal Motherhood (Marcia Kester Doyle), and more!  You’ll laugh – you’ll cry – you’ll love it!  Pick up your copy on Amazon!

Is This Tutor Messin’ with Me? Oh yes. Yes, he IS, that little…

Am I paranoid?  Or is this guy totally messin' with me?  #funny #tutor #homework #humor

So then…my son Tucker slips through the dining room door into the kitchen and whispers, “Mom, I think the tutor’s asleep.”

I look up from the crockpot and whisper, “What?”

We both tiptoe to the dining room door, ease it open a crack, and peer through to see the Biology tutor sitting at the table before an open book, chin on his chest, head down, eyes closed.

Tucker and I look at each other and suppress a giggle. We ease the door shut, then scurry to the opposite end of the kitchen to confer.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I dunno. He was kinda quiet so I looked over and he was sound asleep!”

“Did he just doze off in the middle of a sentence?”

“No, no, he was explaining something, then I started filling in the worksheet, and the next thing I knew – ‘’ (he mimes shutting his eyes and snoring, getting progressively louder and more dramatic with his snores)

“Stop that!” I say, laughing softly. “You’re gonna wake him up!”

“Well, shouldn’t he be awake if he’s going to help teach me Biology?”

Hmm, good point.

“OK,” I say. “I’ll go wake him up. You stay in here and pretend to get a snack or something. I don’t want to embarrass the guy!”

Tucker happily invades the pantry for a snack.

I ease open the door and clear my throat.

Nothing.

I don’t want to startle him. He’s a very nice man. He teaches science at a school in another district during the day – plus he and his wife have 3 kids, including a new baby — AND he tutors after school – so he’s probably exhausted.

And let’s face it, Biology is not exactly riveting.

If I were a Biology tutor, I’d fall asleep as soon as you opened the Biology book, much less if I had to discuss it!

In fact, I’d fall asleep as soon as you said the word, “Biolo— ” Zzzzzzzzz.
See? It just happened.

Now if I were a tutor on the “best TV series to binge-watch” – or the “relative composition of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream Flavors by deliciousness of ingredients” – or the “statistical likelihood of Ryan Gosling’s car breaking down outside my house, in a rainstorm, and needing immediate medical attention and a warm bath” – I’d be WIDE AWAKE for the entire session!

So I certainly don’t blame the guy for falling asleep, but I should wake him.

So I cough.

Nothing.

I tiptoe out of the room, then walk back in, very loudly clicking my shoes on the floor. The tutor does not move.

Good God, I hope he’s not dead.

That’d be incredibly awkward.

I have delicious French Dip beef simmering in the crockpot, more homework to supervise, then a slew of shows on the DVR. Tonight’s schedule is not ideal for an untimely death in my dining room.

Next Thursday, sure. But tonight, no. Definitely not.

I approach the slumbering tutor so I can call his name, but then I realize I don’t KNOW his name!

That may sound odd since he’s been tutoring Tucker for about 6 sessions or so.

But he has a very thick accent and when he introduced himself, I thought he said his name was Farooq Malik.

But then the next time he came, I could swear he introduced himself to my friend as Marooq Falik. Or maybe it was Malik Farooq?

I’m terrible with names anyway, especially if the names could be interchangeable. If you tell me your name is Henry James, I’ll likely call you James half the time and Henry the other half!

Two of my friends both have a “v” in their names so I’m constantly calling them by each other’s names – and I’ve known them for years!

I once knew a Carla that I routinely called Sharon because oh-my-God-you-guys, she just seemed like a Sharon, you know?

So whenever I try to address the tutor, I hesitate, stumble, or mumble. I think he’s on to me.

Recently, I asked him something, and said, “Right, Malik?” and he corrected me by saying “Farooq.” And I could swear he’s corrected me the opposite way too. And he’ll smile mischievously, like he knows that I can’t keep his name straight.

So now I don’t know if I just have a bad memory –

or if he’s just Farooq-ing with me.

My son comes back in the room with chips and sits down.

I cough and say, “Mister…Malik? Farooq? Hello?”

He opens his eyes, shifts in his seat, glances at the book, then looks at Tucker and calmly says,

“And that’s the difference between prokaryote and eukaryote organisms.”

Wow. Didn’t even skip a beat.

Nicely played, Farooq.

Or Malik.

Or whatever the Farooq your name is!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Are you terrible at remembering names too? Any funny tutoring stories? IS he just messing with me? And should I serve strong black coffee whenever he tutors?)

You’re Gonna SNURKLE When You See The Email This Guy Sent Me!

So then…I snurkle – which, as everyone knows, is a cross between a snort and a chuckle.

When you see why, I think you’ll snurkle too.

I send this email to a colleague (let’s call him “Bob”):

Could you be more PACIFIC?  #Funny tale of email gone awry!  #humor

His response:

Could you be more PACIFIC?  #Funny tale of email gone awry!  #humor

Um…OK.

Like this?

Pacific - Ocean 429

Malibu Beach is just 20 minutes from my home. I could literally be in the Pacific Ocean in a flash! Does he want me to hop in with my laptop to reply?

Or does he mean like Chandler Bing:

“Could you BE any more pacific?”

Pacific - Bing 265

Yes, Chandler Bing, I COULD be!

Here I am surrounded by Pacific Islanders.

Pacific - Islanders 429

We shall dance on the beach by the light of the moon, roast a pig, and drink Kava made from the ground root of the pepper shrub.

Now, I don’t know this particular colleague “Bob” very well — but I do know that he is educated — and English is his first language.

So what’s up?

It’s possible he means, “Could you be more specific?” – but that can’t possibly be the case since my email clearly outlines the specific information I’m requesting.

So I can only surmise that my email happened to arrive on his computer screen at the exact moment he realized he was dissatisfied with my ethnicity. “Hmm, I’m not diggin’ her CandyAss Caucasian vibe; I wonder if she could be more Pacific. Let me ask.” So he fired off that email.

I’m not sure exactly how to respond.

Should I reply: “What do you mean?”

Or just write “Sure!” and send him the photos above?

Or perhaps, “Please be more Atlantic.”

Or “Please be more specific.”

Or maybe just toss out something random like, “Please be more Presbyterian.”

Or something annoying like, “Please be more accurate in your email responses.”

But I certainly wouldn’t want to offend, since there’s a chance he did mean to write “specific” – and something got in the way – like spell check or day drinking.

So I shall let you decide the best response.

If someone wrote you an email saying, “Please be more pacific” – how would you reply?

— Darcy Perdu

to your Humor Board!
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(When you saw his response, did you snurkle? How would YOU respond to his email?)

DIED Laughing at This Email He Sent to Me - not QUITE sure how to respond!  #funny #email #office #humor

When the Toddler Rats Out the Nanny — It IS Pretty Funny!

Uh-Oh! When the Toddler Rats Out the Nanny, It IS Pretty Funny!  #kids #nanny #humor

So then…David parks the minivan in the carnival parking lot, removes the key from the ignition, and pops the trunk.

I unbuckle our son Tucker, age 2 and a half, then join David at the back so we can grab the stroller and bag.

Tucker climbs into the driver’s seat and pretends to “drive.”

He waves to us and says, “Look everybody! I’m Remy!” (Remy’s our nanny.)

And with that, he puts one hand on the steering wheel, beeps the horn loudly, and shouts in a Hispanic accent, “Hey, HEY, STUPIDO!” Then he collapses into giggles.

David and I look at each other…

pause…

then burst into laughter.

We are equal parts delighted that our toddler’s already doing comedic impressions at such a young age –

And equal parts horrified that our nanny’s roadside manner is not as courteous as we had thought.

When hiring our bilingual nanny, (whom we adore because she’s awesome) — we had hoped she might teach our son some Spanish words…but, uh…this isn’t exactly what we had in mind…

— Darcy Perdu

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(Have your kids done funny “impressions” of someone? Or learned any words you wished they hadn’t?)

Like to read another short funny nanny story? This one’s a doozy!