Harmony County

2011 & 2009 Winner of "Best Humor Column" awarded by the SC Press Association

Don’t get any on the walls

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Two or three times a month my front yard turns into a used bicycle lot. There are good and bad points to this phenomena. The good part is that my grandkids and their platoon of running buddies like to visit me. The bad part is that the little grunions have figured me out as an easy mark.
The visits are usually unannounced and are conducted with all the subtlety of a battalion of Marines hitting the beach. There is a thunder of foot stomps on the front porch and a bunch of youthful squeaks and squawks. Then the front door flies open, doorbell untouched, and in rushes the thundering horde. Genghis Khan would have smiled with pride.
They fly past me in a mob with everybody yelling, “Hey GPJ!” (Grand Pa Jim) at the top of their lungs. I guess they believe I am stone deaf. My cats, Fast Eddie and Lazy Jake dash for deep cover under the bed. I lack the speed and sense to join them.
The kids make a beeline for the kitchen and I hear refrigerator and cabinet doors being yanked open followed by squeals of delight. They have found my cache of ice cream bars, cookies and cokes. I find them stuffing their faces with the junk food I have unsuccessfully hidden.
I offer them apples, bananas and such and they all look at me like I lost my mind and mumble a polite decline through chocolate and cookie crumb covered faces. Then the raiders are off again streaming past with shouted, “Thanks GPJ!” punctuated by soda induced burps.
I have long since given up asking such questions as; “Are you related to me?” or even “Do I know you?” I just assume a couple of them are relatives, they certainly act that way.
Even when my son and daughter-in-law come over for the occasional Sunday supper things get out of hand. I do a nose count to figure out how many will be coming. Usually there will be four or five. However, experience has taught me that it is wise to triple that number because half the kids in the neighborhood will be coming along, uninvited.
I am sure we all have seen the TV programs that deal with predators in Africa catching their lunch. The action at the buffet bears a striking resemblance complete with growls. The adage, ‘Don’t fill your plate with more food then is bigger then your head’ does not apply. I suspect that their parents don’t feed them.
They descend upon the table and enthusiastically stuff themselves. My only request is that they don’t get anything on the walls. Remember the Norman Rockwell painting of the family gathered around the table for Thanksgiving. This isn’t it.
Eventually there is nothing left to eat and it is time to clean up. I am in the kitchen surveying the damage. I yell into the dining room, “Who’s going to help with KP?”
I find that I am talking to myself. © 2013, Jim McGowan


Written by harmonycounty

October 3, 2013 at 4:42 p10

Posted in Americana, Humor

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