A Whole New World

Some days are diamonds, and some are lumps of coal. Well, I had a diamond day not long ago. Wherever I went, people were super friendly. I don’t know whether I looked pitiful or just approachable.

My first good experience was at our car dealership, where I had the car cleaned and serviced. The service representative was very friendly. When he saw the photo of my son and his wife on my phone, he started telling me his life story. He kept showing me a photo of his significant other. I thought she was beautiful and angelic. He asked me if he should marry her. Of course, I had never met her, so what could I say? I looked at his beaming face as he admired her photo. So I decided. “Yes, you should marry her.”

Later, when the service rep returned with the paperwork, he showed me a long list of recommended services for our car. Our 10-year-old Lexus has only 20,000 miles and has been kept in pristine condition. Nevertheless, he said some items must be replaced due to age, not mileage. He said it was time to change the spark plugs, which would cost $1,100 because they’re difficult to replace. Other items on his list included draining and refilling the transmission, engine coolant, and differential fluids. The total cost, including the spark plugs, would be $2,371. I got Hubby on the phone to speak with the service rep. It was a short discussion. He told the rep to ask me to come home immediately. By the time I got home, Hubby had checked AI and found that none of these procedures were necessary until the car had been driven 60,000 miles. However, AI said the brake fluid should be replaced every 3 years or 30,000 miles. The dealership didn’t even mention draining the brake fluid. Clearly, the dealership was trying to upsell me a bill of goods.

Later, when I got a call from the dealer asking me to rate the quality of their service, I still gave them a high rating, even though they suggested things that didn’t necessarily need doing. They have great coffee and pastries in their waiting room, and their service approach is par for the course at new-car dealerships. All in all, it was an enjoyable visit. I seldom get asked for marriage advice! (I wonder why!)

Then it was on to Costco. Hubby was concerned that getting the car serviced and going to Costco was too much for me in one day. But it was on the way, so why make a separate trip? Everyone was so nice to me. As I checked out, the clerk said that if I needed help loading my car, I should ask an employee at the exit to call for help. I was elated. I had a cart full of some very heavy items. No, it wasn’t 10 boxes of white wine!

On the way out, I stopped to pick up 2 hot dogs to take home for our lunch. The line was long, so I struck up a conversation with the two men in front of me. It’s a question most of us have asked. Why can’t you buy the same number of hot dog buns as hot dogs? Why do hot dogs come 10 to a package while hot dog bun packages have 8? Well, I found the answer on Google.

Hot dogs come 10 to a pack—a nice, even number. Why 10? Because hot dogs are sold by the pound, and standard-sized hot dogs in stores weigh 1.6 ounces. 10 dogs make the perfect package. This practice started in 1940 and remains true today.

When it comes to buns, the number of rolls per pack matters more than the weight. According to the National Hot Dog Sausage Council, sandwich rolls, or hot dog buns, most often come eight to a pack because bakers bake them in clusters of four in pans designed to hold eight rolls. Yep, there’s even a council for hot dogs.

While it’s always been that way, there is hope on the horizon. July is officially National Hot Dog Month. To celebrate, Heinz and Wonder Baking have teamed up in what’s being called the Heinz Hot Dog Pact. Finally, a big hot dog company and a big bun company agree on a single number of products per package—10! This is definitely a cause we can all get behind. Anyway, the conversation with the two gentlemen in the hot dog line made the long wait enjoyable. Then came the surprise. They had paid for my two hot dogs! It was such a good day. Leaving Costco, I asked someone to load my car. A nice gentleman arrived almost immediately. I offered him a tip, but he said he wasn’t allowed to accept one. He appreciated the offer. Once home, Hubby unloaded the car. He complimented me on how well I’d loaded it. I just said, “Thank you!” He also thanked me for the hot dog. Once again, I said, “Thank you.” (He doesn’t need to know everything, does he?)

My life pretty much went downhill after that delightful day. Hubby always says I do a great job with the laundry—washing and folding—but I really goofed up the other day. When he came home from a round of golf, he took off his golf shoes, took one look at his feet, and exclaimed, “No wonder I played so badly today. My socks were on the wrong feet!”

What? I had never heard of anything like that. He had worn his new low-cut compression socks and hadn’t noticed the small L or R letters printed on each sock. Apparently, when I washed and folded them, I missed them too. I guess I’m supposed to pair a left sock with a right one! I bit my tongue and didn’t mention that he was the one who put the two left-footed socks on – not me. I don’t think he realized they were marked either! Now he’s sure to put the socks on correctly, and he’ll have to find another creative reason for having a lousy golf outing!

My hearing is definitely getting worse. We had another episode where I misheard Hubby. The other day, I thought he said, “Wow, a lot of pipe bombs are being removed from the Everglades. There are apparently thousands of them, and they’re very dangerous and well hidden.” It occurred to me that he couldn’t really be talking about pipe bombs. Not wanting to expose my hearing loss, I quickly Googled what was being removed from the Everglades by the thousands. No, it isn’t pipe bombs at all. It’s pythons. Yikes, this is getting scary. Since I did all that research on pythons, I might as well share my findings with you, although my Florida readers likely know all about them.

Native to Southeast Asia, pythons were first brought to the United States as exotic pets. When the exotic pet trade boomed in the 1980s, Miami became home to thousands of these snakes. When the novelty wore off, many of these pets were released into the wild. Because female pythons can lay 50-100 eggs per year—and they have no natural predators—their numbers keep rising. Authorities have no clear sense of how many pythons inhabit the area, largely because the Everglades are difficult to survey. “It could be tens of thousands, or it could be hundreds of thousands,” claims one state employee.

So how to get rid of them? It ain’t easy. The most effective approach is layered, with state and federal programs combining detection, targeted removal, and prevention. Professional removal: pay contractors per snake, with bonuses for snakes over 4 feet. Public hunts: the annual Python Challenge draws thousands of entrants but removes few snakes. Trapping: use traps baited with live prey. The goal is to keep the population in check and slow the spread northward and down into the Keys. The good news is that these pythons rarely eat humans. When they do, they eat them headfirst, and it takes a month to digest them. Even better news: nails, hair, and clothing aren’t digestible, so these items can help identify the unfortunate victims.

My latest faux pas was very embarrassing. I was playing duplicate bridge at our local bridge center, and, as always, bridge players are serious and reserved. One of the opposing male players at my table was wearing a tee shirt with a picture of a wooden station wagon.

I asked him, “Oh, have you ever had a woodie?”

His face got red, and he looked at me, shocked.

I still didn’t get it, so I said, “My father had a woodie once!”

Everyone at our table burst out laughing. Then I got it! I was so embarrassed! I quickly told him I meant the station wagon on his shirt. He said he had forgotten all about the shirt he was wearing! We all laughed hysterically until our stomachs hurt! He said I made his day and that he couldn’t wait to tell others!

Then there’s the ultimate put-down for a senior citizen. I developed a small, suspicious-looking lesion on my back. Hubby nagged me to get it checked in case it was cancerous. So I went to my doctor, and he said it was just fine. I asked what caused it. He said it was age and a buildup of skin cells – sort of like barnacles that grow on old stationary boats.

So now I have barnacles? – What next?

Are you old enough to have barnacles? Please let me hear from you. Our readers love to read your comments!