An Almost True Trivia Story

    Hubby Bruce and I went to a local restaurant and stayed for the weekly trivia game.  We’d heard about it and, heck, you can win free food.  Since we like their pizza, why not have an extra large, thin crust, double cheese with mushrooms on half and pepperoni and green pepper on the other half, on them?  Oh, may I mention we are pretty good at trivia?  It’s been a while since we’ve played Trivial Pursuit, a game from the 1980s, but when we did, we beat the socks off our kids. 

Once the rules were explained, mainly no cell phones allowed with which to google the answers and no shouting them out, we chose a name for our two-person team.  Being the well-educated sophisticates we are, we cleverly decided upon Team Malcolm.  (In case you don’t know, Malcolm is our last name.)

We began.  The first question: How many days are in a fortnight?  I jumped on that one, writing down the number 14.  Correct, of course.  Then I got one about the Joint Chiefs of Staff right and Bruce got Pulp Fiction. It went downhill, at lightning speed, from there. 

After ten minutes, we were doing so poorly that when they asked five questions about television theme songs from the '90s, I hollered, “We didn’t even own a TV back then!”  Not true, but I was hoping for a little sympathy at our wretched showing.  When none was forthcoming, we left at half-time having learned a couple of lessons.  #1.  Just because I beat a radio DJ out of a pizza twenty-one years ago by stumping him with Bruce’s question:  What was Li’l Abner’s legitimate day job?  Answer:  He was a mattress tester for the Stunned Ox Mattress Factory.  Yes, just because I won that one, doesn’t mean we know quite everything.  #2.  Never assign your real last name to your team because Amelia Island, Florida, where we live, is a small place and word of any humiliation spreads quickly.  Examples of such: So far this morning, the mailman asked me if I know what color the sky is and a store clerk asked how many toes are on a human being’s left foot.  While I’m pretty sure the sky is blue, I’m thinking the toe thing might be a trick question.  Is that with our without webs and do webbed toes count as one or two toes?  Hmm.  I’m still thinking this one over …

(Reprinted from 2014 and written by Jane Marie Malcolm because she found it and thought it was still cute. Remember, she's the funniest person she knows.) 

The Case of the Mysterious Droppings

Clearly, Abby feels no guilt or shame.

     Look at the photo on the right and realize this is the first thing I saw as I exited our bedroom that foggy Easter morning. Wearing my Sunday best, my tasseled shoes included, I prepared myself for the less than likeable task of clean-up. And since I  don't believe in embarrassing animals or humans, I didn't question Abby about the matter. But I thought the image of our Spokes Dog, standing in the middle of you know what, proved she was the guilty party.  Although she looked quite proud of herself in the picture, she knew better than to do her business in the house. In fact, it's rare that she does. Oh, a dust bunny suggested the Easter Bunny left us this remembrance of him, but I was not fooled.  Abby was the culprit, for sure.
     Or was she? Remember I mentioned my special shoes. They are dressy and comfy and I've had them for ages. They are some kind of silky fabric and have no signs of wear. I always try them on the night before an event to make certain my feet, over the years, haven't grown and I have that Cinderella wicked step-sister thingie going on. 

my beloved tasseled shoes

   So, back to Easter morning. I heard this odd clacking. Naturally, I looked about to find the source of the clacking. Then I remembered the previous evening as I walked around the house in my shoes. The lights were low, the TV was blaring and Abby was barking at the passersby outside. Hmm. The noise was enough to make we want to scream phooey!  This morning, the house was quiet so with an even cadence when I walked, the clacking noise sounded. When I stopped walking, the clacking stopped, too. Hmm, a second time. Could it be? By jingo, it sure could. When I raised my foot to look at the heel of my shoe, there was none!  At least, the rubber sole part was gone. The droppings were not from innocent Abby, but from my shoes! They were and still are so old, the rubber had dry-rotted!            Sorry Abs. If you could talk, I think you would happily give me a piece of your doggie mind.  I know you have a mind because when I lift your right front paw, you let me shake it. That's the best trick you do, next to taking food from my fingertips, of course.  

🎜Where has all the rubber gone? Long time passing🎝