Um…Is She HITTING on Me?

So then…my friend Lindsey follows me upstairs to my bedroom.

(Oh, git yer mind out da gutter! It ain’t THAT kinda story!)

I want to show her the 8 giant wine glasses in my closet in case she’d like to use them for centerpieces for a party she’s planning.

Funny - Is She Hitting on Me Crop Small
(OF COURSE I use these to drink my wine. All 8 glasses. Simultaneously.)

So as she follows me upstairs into my bedroom, over to the alcove closet, she says to me: “Hey, have you been working out?”

(Oh! Boom-chicka-wow-wow! Maybe this IS that kind of story!)

Has she been staring at my ass this whole time – and now she’s trying that classic pick-up line about working out?

I don’t happen to swing that way, but of course, I’m terribly flattered.

I blush, bat my eye lashes, smile, and purr: “Why no – (toss hair) – but why do you ask?”

She says, “Cuz of that” — and points to my treadmill.

Funny -- Is She Hitting on Me

She laughs and says, “I figured it must be pretty hard to work out on your treadmill, what with all that stuff on it.”

Well! How dare she?

How does she know that I’m not just some incredibly talented gymnast-slash-piano-player who likes to belt out my own tunes while I’m treadmilling? Huh? It’s possible!

Instead of scoffing, she should be admiring my dexterity!

But of course she’s right. I haven’t used that treadmill in forever – and I guess at some point, it seemed to make good sense to store those things there for the “time being.”

And of course she’s happily married and has no intention of hitting on me – although that would have made a very interesting story – especially if we drank wine from those giant glasses and serenaded each other on my Karaoke-Piano-Treadmill (patent-pending).

So now, I MUST ask you:

What’s on YOUR treadmill?

— Darcy Perdu

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(Fess up – what’s on your treadmill right now?  I’d love to see that I’m not the only one storing something odd on my “exercise” equipment!)

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

The Most Unlikely Culprit in this Mystifying Mystery

Funny - Most Unlikely Culprit
So then…I try to gently, but urgently, stuff the four brand new dresses into my suitcase, but

(Mama says that proper ladies don’t sweat — they glisten. Well, I am glistening buckets.) My flight home to Los Angeles leaves VERY soon.

I look frantically at Bianca the sales lady – hoping she has a solution for these four gorgeous dresses I just bought at Janelle’s, my favorite New York dress shop.

She asks, “Can’t you just carry them on the plane?” I point to my jam-packed carry-on bag.

Bianca says, “Well, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stop to shop on your way to the airport…”

I point to the huge “ONE-DAY ONLY SALE: 60% OFF” sign next to the register. I shoot her an exasperated, “Where are your priorities?” expression.

I’m a corporate cutie in my 30’s, so the dresses are a must!

Bianca brightens and says, “How about if I ship them to you in LA — then you won’t have to pay any sales tax.”

Bianca is my new best friend.

Since I live in an apartment, I give her my company’s address so someone can sign for the package.

So I whisk off to LA, secure in the knowledge that my treasures will arrive at my company’s West Coast warehouse in a matter of days.

A week goes by. No mention of the dresses arriving.

I visit Octavio, the warehouse manager, to ask if any packages have arrived for me from Janelle’s Dress Shop in New York.

Nope. But he says he’ll ask around. He nods sagely as though I’ve tasked him with a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes.

Two days later, Octavio comes to my office, with hands clasped in front of him, and delivers his report.

“Your package did arrive.”

“That’s great!” I say.

“But the guys in Receiving thought it was a Return.”


“A Return. We ship products out and sometimes the overstocks or damages get returned to us. But sometimes the stores send us the wrong Returns – like tablecloths or plastic bowls,” he says.


“Yeah, one time, even a case of basketballs,” he says.

“Oh, OK. But I can have the dresses, right?”

“Well, the unspoken warehouse policy is that whoever opens a wrong Return, gets to keep the merchandise.”

“Oh.” I ponder the ethics of that for a moment. And marvel at the fun sort of “Mystery Grab Bag” atmosphere that must pervade the Warehouse Receiving department.

But then I snap back to my hard-won stunning silk dresses and ask, “OK, but we can get the dresses back from whichever worker accidentally opened that package, right?”

“You don’t want them back.”

“What? Of course I want them back! They’re beautiful! And expensive! And I love them!”

Octavio shakes his head firmly. “You don’t want them back.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Hugo was the one who opened the package. So he gave the dresses away.”

“Can’t he return them?” I implore.

“No. Hugo gave two to his wife. And two to his mistress. His mistress is much shorter and…well…skinnier than you, so she had to cut them across the middle to make them into a short top and a small skirt.”

I gasp. I literally gasp.

My sumptuous corporate silk dresses slashed in half to make a crop top and mini skirt for a sexy little Carmelita!

“But… the wife?” I ask hopefully. “Maybe the wife didn’t harm her dresses? Maybe—”

“No, her dresses are fine. But the wife found out about the mistress, so she moved back to Mexico.”

I stare at him blankly.

“With the dresses,” he adds.

I momentarily toy with the idea of hunting Hugo’s wife down in Mexico and demanding my wayward wardrobe.

I then consider hunting Hugo down and slapping him silly for his irresponsible Lothario behavior. Good God, man! Keep it in your pants – or at least exercise discretion!

So now I’m filling out the claim form for the American Express Purchase Protection Program in hopes of being reimbursed for the disappearing dresses!

I’m trying to figure out how to phrase it so that it doesn’t sound crazy like “a dog ate my homework.”

But how exactly do you explain that half of your dresses are being held hostage in an international adultery scandal – and the other half were massacred to make a Hoochie Mama outfit for a short, skinny harlot?

— Darcy Perdu

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(Ever had something special go missing? Or opened a package that contained something surprising? Or a funny misunderstanding at work? Share your stories in the Comments Section.)
Funny - Most Unlikely Culprit P

Well, That’s a GOOD Thing for a Teacher to Say — I Think…

Um...Is That a Compliment?  Funny School Discussion!  #teacher #funny #school #backtoschool #teens #son #humor

So then…he slings his backpack on the counter and pops open the fridge for a snack.

“How was the first day of 10th grade?” I ask.

A muffled “fine” floats up from the fridge.

“Oh come on, you gotta give me more than that. I’m excited to hear about your classes and teachers. Can’t you tell me something about your day?”

My 15-year-old son emerges with a container of pineapple — pauses, concentrates — then brightens when he remembers something.

“After class, one of my teachers, Mr. Preston, said, ‘Tucker, I am really glad you are in my class.’”

“Oh!” I say proudly, taking it as a compliment for my son.

Then I think a moment. “Wait, why did he say that to you?”

“I dunno.” He opens the silverware drawer for a fork.

“Did he know you from last year or something?”

“No.” He grabs a water bottle.

“Did he say it to anyone else?

He shrugs. “Nope.”

“So he just told you specifically that he’s ‘really glad’ you’re in his class? What class is this?”



So now I’m wondering if the teacher said that because he was impressed with Tucker’s keen philosophical grasp of theological principles –

or because he was thinking, ‘Good Lord, this heathen’s on the brink of eternal damnation. Thank God he’s in this class so we can SAVE HIS SOUL!’

I’m sure it’s the former. Yeah, definitely the former.

— Darcy Perdu

Original Illustration for So Then Stories by Stefano Marchio

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(Do you agree it’s like pulling teeth to get your teenagers to communicate? Any examples of “compliments” that might NOT be actual compliments? Any odd teacher quotes?)

Damn You, Disney!

Funny - Chloe in Panic
So then…my daughter Chloe clutches her tummy, writhes about in bed, and complains about a stomach ache AGAIN.

1st Diagnosis:
This is probably her wily way of prolonging snuggle time. She’s 7 and loves to chatter and giggle as we lay in her bed before bedtime, so a tummy ache makes me stay longer with her.

It’s not so much a PAINFUL ache – it’s more of an ANNOYING ache – and I’m usually able to distract her or get her to sleep when they occur.

But this has been going on for a long time, so I take her to the pediatrician just to check it out.

Lots of questions, poking, prodding — which leads to:

2nd Diagnosis:
Perhaps she’s not moving her bowels frequently enough?
Hello, Metamucil and fiber-rich food.
But the intermittent stomach aches continue, so then the doctor suggests:

3rd Diagnosis:
Perhaps she’s lactose-intolerant?
Goodbye milk, cheese, and ice cream.
Hello tears. (From her AND me, because dammit, it’s hard to scarf down a Baskin-Robbins sundae when your lactose-intolerant kid is jabbing you in the ankles with a spoon.)
So we ALL forgo dairy.
And while there seems to be a reduction in frequency, the stomach aches continue.

So now friends suggest a therapist.
“For ME?” I ask hopefully.
“No, for HER, you knucklehead!” they respond. “Maybe she’s stressed out, so her tummy hurts.”
“What does a 7-year-old have to be stressed about?” I wonder.
But I gently and casually talk to Chloe about school, friends, family, activities, etc to see if there’s any anxiety in a particular area. Nope, all’s clear. Very happy, cheerful little girl.

But she still complains about occasional stomach aches, so I take her to a Gastroenterologist.
Oh yes I do.
Let’s get a specialist up in here!
My poor baby’s suffering. Let’s fix this now!
Which leads to:

4th Diagnosis:
Perhaps she has reflux
or ulcers
or diverticulitis
or ulcerative colitis
or celiac disease.

“Perhaps she should stop eating gluten,” the Gastroenterologist says.
“What has gluten in it?” I ask.

Turns out: Everything.

EVERYTHING has gluten in it!
Wait, purists, let me rephrase that.

So now we begin the painstaking process of figuring out what this poor kid can eat.

And still the frikkity-frik stomach aches pop up every few days.

I admit defeat.

I am baffled.

But she’s a trooper, this Chloe. We try to avoid lactose and gluten, but they creep back in. We try to keep stress to a minimum. The aches begin to dissipate.

Then, other things take center stage – other things claim our focus as life goes on.

Finally one night, I’m lying on Chloe’s bed while she’s getting ready in the adjoining bathroom and I realize:

“Omigosh! Do you realize it has been MONTHS since you’ve had a stomach ache? Like, literally MONTHS and MONTHS!”

“Yeah,” she says nonchalantly. “They stopped a long time ago. I figured out what it was.”

She says this dismissively like it’s no big deal.

I sit up abruptly. “WHAT!? You know WHY you had all those stomach aches? WHAT WAS IT?

She pokes her head out of the bathroom. “I was allergic to something in my Disney Princess toothpaste. So if I swallowed some, it made my tummy hurt. As soon as I switched to Crest, the stomach aches stopped.”



Pediatricians, Metamucil, lactose, gluten, stress, gastroenterologist, and celiac disease?


AND she didn’t even tell me when she found out!  She didn’t put me out of my medical-mystery misery!

It’s almost enough to make me write a strongly-worded letter to the Disney company and include my receipts for all the doctor visits, soy milk, and chalk-tasting gluten-free cookies we suffered through.

But oh, Bella, Ariel, and Cinderella, I can’t hold it against you.

You probably don’t know your toothpaste contains Sodium Fluoride, Sorbitol, Hydrated Silica, Sodium Lauryl Sulfate, Trisodium Phosphate, Cellulose Gum, Sodium Phosphate, Sodium Saccharin, Carbomer, Red 28.

And you probably don’t know the Directions on the product that you use in YOUR MOUTH say: “Do not swallow.” And if too much is swallowed, “get medical help or contact a Poison Control Center right away.” 

Really, call the Poison Control Center? On a toothpaste for KIDS?

Oh, Disney.

— Darcy Perdu

Original Illustration for So Then Stories by Shelly Draven

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(Of course we laugh about this now — can you relate?  Have any of YOUR mysteries been solved by something equally ridiculous? Any “Damn you, Disney” moments to share? Let me know in the Comments Section!)
Funny - Damn You, Disney

Oh, Wait — So You ARE the Boss of Me?

Funny - Darcy ConfusedSo then…my boss says those four words that signal I have officially arrived in The Corporate World — even though I am only 23 years old: “You can hire staff.” I’m so excited! I’ve spent my whole life hustling for jobs and taking on more and more responsibility and work – and now I get to hire someone to help ME!

Now granted, “staff” implies multiple employees and my boss means just the one. And that employee will help me AND the whole department. And that employee will actually be a college student summer internBUT STILL! My very own staff!

I myself have just graduated college last year and already I get to hire someone! I’m ecstatic! I’m so overwhelmed with my workload, often working evenings, so I can’t wait to… (shudder of anticipatory delight) … to DELEGATE.

So HR sends me some resumes of outstanding college sophomores and juniors looking for great internships to beef up their resumes. I’m fairly certain the kids (yes, I can call them “kids” now – I AM 23, for Pete’s sake) will consider this summer internship a plum assignment since we are a Fortune 500 company located on Park Avenue in New York City – AND our internships are paid!

I begin the interviews with confidence that the kids will be tripping over themselves to snag this job.

College Junior Tom’s interview is going very well – good grades, great referrals — then he tells me, “I can write stuff and work on projects, but I don’t want to copy things – or run errands – or be, you know, a ‘gopher.’”

Huh? I furrow my brow at Tom.

I quickly explain to him, “But you DO know that in Latin, intern means ‘gopher,’ right? That’s why we hire interns – to do all the work we don’t want to do. If it was fun, interesting, challenging work, we’d do it ourselves.”

Huh? Now Tom furrows his brow at me.

So then, I interview College Sophomore Clara. And I love her! She’s outgoing, perky, and seems very competent. Clara seems like the kind of can-do gal who can do!

I like her so much, I throw her a softball question: “What’s your greatest strength?”

I figure her answer will be something like “I learn fast, work hard, and I can write, research, plan events — whatever needs to be done!”

But instead she says, “I think my greatest strength is managing people.

Huh? I furrow my brow at Clara.

She’s applying to be an intern, for God’s sake. That’s the lowest head on the totem pole. In fact, it’s not even ON the totem pole. It’s a small head – like a shrunken head – NEXT to the totem pole, LOOKING at the totem pole thinking, “Oh, I hope one day I get to be ON that totem pole.”

But her greatest strength is managing people?

I say, “Um..OK. But how would you feel about taking a summer job where you manage NO ONE – but you are managed by EVERYONE?

Clara says very confidently, “Oh, that’s OK. When I joined the French Club at the beginning of the school year, I was just a member — but by the end of the school year, I was the President of the French Club!”

I pause and say soothingly as though talking to a mental patient with a tinfoil hat, “Um…OK, but you do realize that at the end of the summer internship, you probably won’t be the President of our company, right?”

Clara shrugs imperiously, as though to say, “Well, maybe not by the end of summer.”

I figure that the last thing I need is an intern who wants to boss me around – for God’s sake, I want to do the bossing!

So I interview a few more people — and I find Susan who turns out to be ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS – qualified, smart, hard-working, and with a great sense of humor. It’s a good thing too – I’m more likely to crack jokes than crack the whip anyway!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Have you ever received some surprising answers from candidates during your interviews? Or have YOU given an odd response to a prospective employer that you wish you could have taken back? Any fun summer internship stories? Share in the Comments!)
Funny - Oh Wait - So You ARE the Boss of Me

I’m a Cat on a Hot Tin Roof — ON METH

Meth Cat Sketch
So then… the plane shudders and moans – and my stomach flops and churns.

I’m usually a pretty calm traveler –

but the plane makes a SUDDEN and SHOCKING DROP!

The passengers emit a collective gasp!

It’s the Tower of Terror times a million. And what’s worse is that the cockpit is strangely silent. No intercom announcements like “whoops, sorry about that folks — just spilled my latte in my lap, we’re back on course now.”

And no “Oh, so THAT’S what that button does.” Nothing. We fly in spooky silence.

And NOW, we can’t seem to land. Something about the excessive heat and winds in Nevada today make the plane SHAKE violently – along with a horrifying, THUNDEROUS noise.

So the pilot brings the plane back up.

He circles and tries to land again, but the same thing happens – deafening noise and visible signs that the plane is literally SHAKING like it’s about to SHATTER.

A third attempt fails.

By now, even the most stoic macho world-weary world travelers are sitting up, half leaning, craning to look out the window, asking “what’s happening?!” and “what the hell?!”


People are literally shouting expletives — and some are practically hyperventilating.

I am numb with terror.

If people around me remain calm, I can hold it together. But when they start to freak out, I turn into a puddle of panic.

I silently grip the arm rests, eyes wide, heart hammering.

On the fourth attempt — plane shaking, skittering, dipping, pounding – and emitting an ear-piercing noise – we land!

And something amazing happens.

As soon as we’re grounded, everyone experiences a collective amnesia of the past 30 minutes.

It’s like it never happened.

People grab belongings out of the overhead bins, check cell phones for messages, stuff books into purses.

Their faces indicate that they’re already thinking about which rental car counter they need to visit, scheduling their son’s orthodontist appointment, paying the property taxes by Friday, and…life goes on.

I want to shout:


But they’re just chatting on phones, filing out of the plane with all their briefcases, purses, and overnight bags in tow.

It’s like the selective amnesia you have after 12 hours of brutal child labor that makes you think, “Ah, that wasn’t so bad. Let’s get pregnant again!”

But after those four terrifying landing attempts, I do not forget.

No, I hold that fear like a cold dark claw in my chest, ready to rip my heart out at the slightest provocation – a flight…..a mention of a flight…..a paper airplane.

Once a laidback traveler, I am now like a cat on a hot tin roof – on meth.

A Meth Cat.

Take a high-strung cat.

And a strung-out meth-head.


That is me.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Any travel tales of terror? Share your survival stories in the Comments below. But ONLY survival tales please. If you are dead, do NOT write about the travel disaster that got you there. That will totally mess with my Meth Cat Mind right now, and I’m NOT havin’ it.)
Meth Cat Sketch P

Murderers Trying to Break into My House

Funny - Murderers Trying to Break into My House
So then…I cock my head and freeze.

Is someone outside? Is someone OUTSIDE the house trying to get INSIDE?

My heart is pounding. I will my ears to hear…harder!

It’s not quite dark outside, but I’m a nervous wreck. My boyfriend has been out of town all week so I’m all by myself in this new rental house – and I’m managing to freak myself out at the slightest sound.

I’m a full-grown woman in my 20’s but sometimes I feel completely vulnerable when I’m alone too long. Especially if I’ve been watching too many scary movies.

I hear crunching noises, then steps. No one should be here! I’m literally frozen in the hallway.

Loud knocking at the door!

I peek out of the side window and I see two men!

NO WAY am I gonna open the door for two men when I’m all by myself.

I pretend I’m not home.

They loudly knock AGAIN!

How do they know I’m here?

I have to send them away! But I need an excuse why I won’t open the door.

The first thing that pops into my head is THIS, which I say in a high-pitched little girl voice:

“My Mom won’t let me open the door when she’s not home.”


WHAT am I thinking?

If these are murderer-rapists, that is EXACTLY what they’re hoping to hear! Young girl? Check. Alone? Check. Parents not home? Check. Let’s do this.

My heart is beating so loudly – I’m in full panic mode.



I run to the back bedroom and lock the door. I grab the phone. I look for a weapon of some kind.

I strain to hear what’s going on outside. Nothing. All is quiet. They are obviously plotting to come back after dark to torture and murder me. I ain’t staying for that!

I run to the kitchen to grab a butcher knife, my keys, and the phone. I don’t see them outside so I make a mad dash to escape.

As I slam the door behind me, some papers fall to the ground…

religious papers…

Jehovah’s Witnesses literature…

that they had rubber-banded to my doorknob…

to help me find the right path to the Lord.

These men were not here to KILL me.

They were here to SAVE me.


Now I know what you’re thinking: “Don’t you feel pretty silly, Darcy?”

No. No, I don’t.

Because you know what, Jehovah’s Witnesses can be torture-murderers too. Whom am I to profile certain religious groups to assume that they AREN’T torture-murderers? Huh? That’s just discrimination, people. And I am no discriminator.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Are there times that you get absolutely freaked out or paranoid too? Any situations you thought were dangerous, but turned out to be harmless? Share in the Comments!)
Funny - Murderers Trying to Break into My House

Seriously, Have You MET Me?

So then…I open an email from one of my older relatives, a sweet Southern woman, who is sharing a video clip with her friends and family.

The video shows that if you boil a large pot of potatoes, and fill the pot with ice, then their skins will peel off almost effortlessly.

It’s sweet of her to share this info — and I imagine that she and her Southern friends are often faced with the challenge of efficiently peeling multitudes of potatoes for their potato salads and mashed potatoes and such.

But when she sends things like this to me, (who is challenged in ALL things cooking-related), I wonder, “Has she met me? Doesn’t she know that PF Chang’s never asks me to peel potatoes when I pick up dinner?”

— Darcy Perdu

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(Do you have well-meaning relatives too? Are you a Whiz in the kitchen — or a Genius at take-out? Or a Fabulous Restaurant Patron? Share some Comments or Tips!)

Funny - Seriously - Have You MET Me

A Mother ALWAYS Knows

School Pictures: Telling My Kid the COLD HARD TRUTH - It Ain't Pretty, Kid!  #funny #school #kids #humor

Examples of School Pics from Around the Country

So then…I slide some of the framed 8” x 10” school photos of my kids aside, so I can reach the book on the top shelf that my daughter Chloe needs.

There are literally years and years of 8” x 10”s cluttering the shelves. For the most part, they are gorgeous — and they are my children, so I cannot bear to put them away.

So I display literally every school photo they have ever taken.

As I hand Chloe the book, I gesture to one particular school photo of her and say, “I’ve always hated that picture.”

Chloe, curious:     Why?

Me:                       Your hair is dirty.

Chloe:                  What? My hair is “dirty?” That picture was taken 4
years ago!
How in the world can you tell if my hair
was dirty that day!?

Me, curling lip:      Oh, I can tell.

— Darcy Perdu

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(Can you tell when YOUR kid’s hair is dirty in school photos? Or when they’ve worn that shirt twice in a row?  As much as you love your children, are there some photos you really DON’T love? What’s your favorite of the 6 fun photos above?  I LOVE the “Crown of Hair” in the upper left corner!)

Drunken Tumbles

Drunken Tumbles
So then…I watch intoxicated women fall in the most spectacular fashion. Wineglasses and beer bottles go flying, high heels teeter, skirts fly — women of all shapes and ages go plunging and plummeting, amidst the shock (or delight) of the people around them.

Clip after clip, drunken dames bite the dust – at weddings, parties, backyard BBQs, bars, and even a christening.

I’m not a big fan of physical humor, but I’m laughing in spite of myself.

The video link is aptly titled, “Mad Mums: Why Middle-Aged Women Should Not Drink.”

Don’t worry — as they trip and tumble, slip and stumble, they don’t appear to suffer any bodily harm – but the damage to their dignity is irreparable.

I immediately forward the video link to my sister Della who’s been known to giggle helplessly at a good plummet. Our emails:

I figured you’d like these clips because — do I recall correctly that you like to watch people falling down unexpectedly?

I even like when people fall down expectedly.

I literally laughed out loud at that — AND fell down!

See for yourself, click here: Drunken Tumbles 

— Darcy Perdu

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(Taken any good tumbles recently? Ever seen a spectacular wipe-out? Share your drunken tales — and any other funny video links I can send my sister who likes to watch people fall down unexpectedly AND expectedly!)
Drunken Tumbles P2

Threatening My Kid with the Fiery Pits of Hell: Um…Too Much?

My Daughter & The Fiery Pits of Hell

So then…Chloe, age 9, tiptoes into my home office, stands before me, twisting her hands into pretzels. She can see that I’m answering work emails — and certainly the frenzied typing indicates how focused I am — so she hesitates a moment.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, um, I was just wondering…”

I click open an attachment and quickly glance at the contents.

She continues to stammer. “Um, I was thinking…well, since I’ve been going to religious education classes once a week at St. Catherine’s Church every year for the last few years….”

“Mmm, yeah…” I say distractedly.

She looks down and says, “And since I’m going to go to Catholic school for middle school next year, so we’ll have religion class every other day and Masses all the time there…”

“Uh-huh, yeah.” I hit Send to forward the attachment.

She asks timidly, “Well, I was just wondering if I could skip 5th grade religious ed. class and take a year off?”

WHAT? My head snaps up and I whirl toward her.

But I calm myself. No need to over-react.

I look at this child that we have faithfully shepherded through the sacraments of Baptism, Reconciliation, and Holy Communion. This child that we have driven all the way over to very-far-away St. Catherine’s Church once a week for religion class. This child who is now asking to skip a year of religious instruction.

So I decide to say something inspirational.

I say, “Really? You want to take a “year off” from God? Is it OK if God takes a year off from you?”

Whereupon she flees from the room, distraught — no doubt convinced that her proposal would have led directly to the burning flames of hell.

I know. Tough love. But I had to do it. Her soul is at stake!

Of course, I follow her and calm her down — and gently explain the importance of continuity in her religious education.

So then…

Two days later, my carpool partner calls to say that her family is moving to a new neighborhood — so she won’t be able to split the driving duty with me over to St. Catherine’s religion class – so I’ll need to drive Chloe there myself EVERY week.


Um, Chloe? Chloe, honey, let’s talk about your idea again. You know, sometimes absence does make the heart grow fonder…

— Darcy Perdu

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(Any examples of tough love? Any activities you wanted your kids to continue but they were not QUITE as enthusiastic?)

So funny!  Threatening My Kid with the Fiery Pits of Hell --- but it BACKFIRES!  #funny #kids #humor #carpool #church