Life is a challenge. You never know what might come up. You could be walking through your own house wanting to read a book in your favorite chair when suddenly you find the cat is there first. You might be able to move her, but she has sixteen razor-sharp claws and might not want to move. You have to ask yourself, “Do I have time for an emergency room visit today?” I don’t know about you, but problems like this come up in my house all the time.
Some problems are recurring like this one; I have three children and two adults in my house. Now, ice cream treats come in boxes of twelve. We open the box and everyone gets one leaving seven. The next day my children all have taken one and usually my wife. I am the slowest. Therefore, when I get to the freezer there are three left. My wife has a rule if there are three of anything, they go to the kids to be fair. So, here’s the problem: I must now decide whether to miss out on the yumminess of the tasty treat, or risk the wrath of mom. Problems, problems, problems!! At this point I must humbly admit my brilliance and say that I found a third, most satisfying option, which has worked a couple of times. I just eat all three treats. It’s not a perfect solution, but at least I can say that I won, as I sit like a lump suffering with stomach pains.
Then there are people problems, like Rita. Rita is a curvy blond co-ed who walks her dog in my housing development. She often stops when she sees me because she is a writing student and I am, frankly, a legend in my own mind. So, we talk.
As we are often in the middle of the street, we are also seen by the neighbors. A couple of week ago I received a notice from the homeowners association stating that I am being observed and, this is a quote, “Greenwood has many young families living within its walls, and it would be appreciated by the homeowners if I would conduct my affairs inside,” unquote. As honored as I am to be thought I could woo this beauty. I would like to say that she probably wouldn’t go for me anyway, for two very good reasons. First, she is twenty-one with an open future in front of her, I am frankly … well, not. Second, she is beautiful and single, looking for handsome hunks, and I am Mr. Ohh! a fantastic humorist. No, they don’t go together but don’t push me in to things I don’t want to say.
At this point I would like to say I’m shocked and want you all to know… Heck no I wouldn’t. If I’m going to be thought to be the playboy of the complex, who am I to argue? But you can see that it does lead to more problems, other young ladies wanting to have what Rita desires, and husbands looking at me with distain. Mo’ Problems, Mo’ Problems!
Then there is the biggest problem of all; Sunday morning donuts! Has anyone out there tried to order a dozen donuts for five people in times of quarantine? It’s impossible to make everyone happy. Months ago, my children asked if we could get donuts every Sunday until the quarantine was over. My wife agreed, so I was sent out at seven AM to purchase the treats. The first week I let the cashier pick out the doughnuts. This was a big mistake. There were two quince donuts. What the heck is quince? We had cake donuts that must have been made during the Roosevelt administration, Teddy, not FDR. One looked like it was tied in a knot as if it was doing yoga, and no one wants to interrupt your yoga session by taking a bite out of you. There were absolutely no donuts in the box that anyone actually wanted. I was just happy to get a sweet treat, but my family wanted their favorites, so I made a list and when I went back the next week. I was prepared. Or so I thought.
The first problem happened when I went to the door. The sign said it was open, and there were people inside, but the door was locked tight. Who in their right mind locks a donut shop on Sunday morning? Then I noticed the tiny hand written sign Drive Thru Only. I had to get back in my car and find the window to get a few donuts.
Alright, I’m up for a challenge. I entered the line fully expecting to be successful. No! I got to the order station and asked for a dozen. They replied with a question. “Are you ordering special or do you want them mixed?” When I said I was ordering, I got an audible “Huhh!” After several moments in which I’m sure I heard swearing in some foreign language, the voice in the box said, “Go Ahead.” I first asked for two glazed and four jelly. They responded hopefully, “Was that six glazed and six jelly?” Then there was a short argument about what I said. Of course, I won but the line behind me was getting longer.
The next item in my list was lemon filled, so I asked for three. I heard, “I’m sorry, but with the virus limitations we are on a limited menu and no longer have lemon.” What? They have quince and chocolate rocks from the past century but not my family’s favorite? I had to make a quick decision, which I knew I would fail at, so I postponed it. “Okay,” I answered, “I’ll have three of the chocolate creams.” The voice informed me they didn’t have that one either. At least this time they offered a replacement. They had a chocolate frosted with vanilla cream inside. So, in despair I ordered three.
There I was in the drive-thru with a line of angry cars behind me and only nine donuts in my box of twelve. I panicked and tried to remember what I liked as a kid, and started shouting out random flavors: raspberry, sugar, birthday cake, alligator. All noes. Although that last one did raise some questions. Then I remembered. It was like a light from heaven, a word no donut shop could ever refuse and I said, “Sprinkles?” The answer came as a surprise. “Chocolate or vanilla frosted?” I ordered three of each, and was informed I now had fifteen donuts in my dozen. The line was now all the way back to the street and I’m sure I saw one guy take the shotgun down from the rack on his truck.
I was sweating and yelled make it two dozen and suggest something? He said; Maple filled, Boston Cream, and something that sounded like kriller. I didn’t care, ordered three of each, paid, and went home.
I put them on the table and went to sit in my chair, to upset to eat. The family came downstairs and attacked the boxes. Twenty-four donuts and all I heard was I should have got more Maple.
You see, More problems!
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