I’M TELLING MOM!

Post last updated: September 25th, 2018

Remember those childhood days when you screeched at some recalcitrant sibling, “I’m telling Mom!”? After Momma passed to Glory, it was necessary for me to choose another Mom-like figure for such threats. I chose our family’s iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove, my sister, a/k/a Miss Priss.

I was in Poppie’s kitchen the other night trying to prepare a cake mix on the same counter as his toaster oven. At my request, he had earlier put two baking potatoes in the toaster oven.

He either forgot to poke holes in the potato skins or I forgot to remind him to poke the holes.

 

KABOOM!

 

I was so startled, I screamed. Poppie, on the other hand, never budged from his recliner to find out what happened to me. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Poppie doesn’t hear so good even with two hearing aids. I thought he might not have heard the explosion but by golly, he MUST have heard me screaming bloody murder. I could have been standing there in the boogie man’s stranglehold with a knife at my throat. Does Poppie bother to check? Noooooooo.

I rightly accused him of this shortcoming.

“You screamed,” he explained. “So I knew you were all right.”

My mouth agape, I put my hands on my hips. “What has to happen to get your attention? The potato firing out of the toaster oven like a guided missile? Do I have to create an earthquake by falling to the floor before you think something might be amiss?”

This went back and forth for several minutes before I became so exasperated I hollered, “I’m telling my sister!” He didn’t say another word.

28 thoughts on “I’M TELLING MOM!”

  1. This is too funny! What does Miss Priss think? Or do you just threaten and don’t tell? Pat

    1. I dunno about that. He’s getting crotchety. The other day I pointed out that he didn’t clean the area where the cat eats — the floor and baseboard. He informed me, “I don’t do baseboards.”

        1. Marla – Do you know what he told me today? That he never pays attention to my screams in the kitchen because I apparently do it a lot. Either that or cuss like a sailor. Surely he is making this up?

  2. I do believe my character is being maligned. You make it sound like I am the Wicked Witch of the West, when in fact, I am more like Glenda the Good Witch. I do swear though that together, you and Poppie are a trip and a half. BTW, you should work on that memory thing.

    1. Poppie claimed the same thing today when I saw him out in the yard. He said I was making him “look bad.” Well, gee, next time at least ask, “You okay?” I forget to tell you half the stuff he does. By the time I get home, it’s gone.

      1. That should be a bumper sticker. Cussin comes from men but some women do it better by stringing a whole bunch of cuss words together. Can you put this on a pretty card stock for me so I can put it on my refrigerator?

  3. Love this! I can so picture you and your Dad having this exchange. Glad you’re okay and weren’t hit by the potato missile.

  4. Your story made me laugh out loud! I have a man like that in my life, too. Those exploding spuds could have put an eye out! I guess he knows next time to poke holes in them and you now know that yelling attracts no attention so I hope nothing serious really goes down! Funny story. Love your blog about life in the (dangerous!) South. Please continue to share with us, thanks!

    1. Hey Smith! I gotta admit I’m not keen on losing body parts to a tater. Who wants to explain that to the ER? I don’t think the South is too very dangerous for most folks but some of us are just magnets for trouble.

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