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Judy's House

Judy

Hello Everybody, and Welcome to Judy's House.

I've come to the realization that men and women do not think alike when it comes to...well, just about anything.  They also seem to handle any crisis or uncomfortable issue from polar opposite directions.  This became glaringly apparent a few Sundays ago.  Ah, yes, it seems like only yesterday when...

I invited my extended family over for Sunday dinner.  This consists of grandma and grandpa, my husband and myself, not to forget our precious son and daughter.  Dinner was scheduled for 5 PM, as the grandparents preferred not to drive after dark.  Well, grandpa missed the exit off the freeway that led to our home, and found himself "unfamiliar with his surroundings" (we learned long ago never to use the word "lost" in reference to grandpa's driving).  When grandma suggested they stop and ask for directions, grandpa's blood pressure shot up so high that he had to pull over to regain his composure.  Fearing the worst, grandma flagged down a passing motorist who called 911.  Grandpa was taken to the nearest emergency room via an ambulance.

At 8 PM we received a phone call from grandma, telling us what had happened.  The family jumped into the car and drove to the hospital to rescue the grandparents.  My husband was driving at quite a good clip when we hit something that must have been pretty darn sharp, because one of the front tires blew.  My husband managed to pull the car over to the shoulder, and proceeded to get out the "spare" from the trunk.  I shouted out the window, reminding my husband that the latch on the trunk tended to "act up sometimes".  He shouted back that he had been working on cars since he was a boy, and proceeded to recount some of his favorite "car tinkering tales".  In the middle of a particularly good story about a ' 67 Mustang, the trunk unexpectedly popped open and whacked him squarely in the forehead, knocking him unconscious.  For the second time that night, 911 was called and my family made use of yet another ambulance.

While sitting in the lobby of the emergency room and awaiting news about grandpa and dad, grandma thought it a good idea to relax all of the "uninjured family members" with a little "small talk".  Grandma reached over and began to blot at something on my son's upper lip with a handkerchief.  "You must have gotten a grease smudge on you when you helped your dad with that tire" she said.  What grandma didn't realize (until too late) was that what grandmas consider a "grease smudge" are what 16 year old grandsons consider a "mustache".

So, that night, if grandpa had listened to grandma and asked for directions, he wouldn't have been held overnight "for observation".  Dad wouldn't have ended up with a concussion, and my son wouldn't have ignored his entire family for the rest of that evening. 

But, hey, where's the fun in that?  What would our family have to tease each other about at the next Sunday dinner?

Here's to the "spice" in your family's life,
(and vive la difference!)

Judy  



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