How many dozen people have you heard that from lately? It comes in handy this time of year when you can’t think of anything else to say.
I get several every day, so I don’t answer until seven rings. And now there’s talk of allowing robo calls to cell phones. I may have to stop answering that one, too. You can get in touch with me by knocking on my front door.
The President has withdrawn our troops from Iraq, although we’ll still be spending money there. Nine years is way too long, especially for an optional war with inadequate planning ahead of time. And we’re still at war in Afghanistan. And while Pakistan purports to be our ally, we seem to be at war there, too.
I think it’s time to let them settle their own affairs. It’s obvious we can’t do it, and it only makes us poorer. Just think of all the other things we could have bought with that $1trillion+ spent on the Iraq war. Yes, that’s $1,000,000,000,000. Plus.
A friend writes:
Last Saturday night we were dressed and ready to go out to a Christmas party. We turned on a nightlight, turned the answering machine on, covered our pet parakeet and put the cat in the backyard.
Because we knew we’d be having a few drinks, we phoned a cab company and requested a taxi. The taxi arrived and we opened the front door to leave the house.
As we walked out the door, the cat we had put out in the yard scooted back into the house. We didn’t want the cat shut in the house because she always tries to eat the bird.
My wife went on out to the taxi, while I went back inside to get the cat. The cat ran upstairs, with me in hot pursuit.
Waiting in the cab, my wife didn’t want the driver to know that the house would be empty for the night. So she explained to the taxi driver that I’d be out soon. “He’s just going upstairs to say goodbye to my mother.”
A few minutes later I got into the cab. “Sorry I took so long,” I said as we drove away. “That stupid thing was hiding under the bed. I had to poke her with a coat hanger to get her to come out. She tried to take off, so I grabbed her by the neck. Then I had to wrap her in a blanket to keep her from scratching me. But it worked! I hauled her fat bottom downstairs and threw her out into the back yard! Hope she doesn’t use the vegetable garden for a toilet again.”
The silence in the cab was deafening.
Years ago, my kids believed in Santa Claus. Now they think I am Santa Claus.