Melicious Details

Fraught by Apparel

Unless the weather channel is predicting a hard freeze, Clyde wears shorts everywhere every day, except when I invoke the You Must Wear Pants rule.  And since his preferred shopping strategy is to buy a whole bunch of whatever he needs all at once to avoid having to shop again any time soon, the Shorts Shopping Extravaganza happened last weekend.

Saleswoman: Sir, can I help you find something?

Clyde: I need some new shorts.

Saleswoman:  Any particular kind? How about a khaki chino?

Clyde: A what?

Saleswoman:  A khaki chino.

Clyde:  Um...No thanks.

After she walks away, Clyde turns to me and says:  Why did she just ask me if I wanted a coffee drink?

The English-Italian-Vietnamese Translation Triangle

I love my manicurist, Nancy.  She's been doing my nails for almost 20 years.  She came to the Bay Area via a small boat when she fled the communist regime in South Vietnam in the 1970s. Even now she still has a strong Vietnamese accent, which, when combined with her slight lisp, can create some funny conversations. 

When I was in Italy, I'm sure the Italians were thinking something similar about me:  that blonde woman's strong American accent combined with her slight lisp make for some amusing pronunciations.  Like the time I ordered fish gelato.  Because I was trying to say the word for peach (pesca) and it came out sounding like the word for fish (pesce).

Nancy and I recently had this conversation:

Nancy:  Mayleesa, in backyard, I put kacheebo!

Me:  Nancy?  A what?

Nancy:  Kacheebo!

She does some gesturing.

Me:  Oh!  A gazebo!

Nancy:  Yes, kacheebo!

Me:  Nice!

Nancy:  Now we put in a <insert sound of puppy sneezing>

Me:  A what?

Nancy makes the puppy sneezing sound again.

I am perplexed.

Nancy:  A tub.  It has jet.  It has BAUBLES!

Me:  Ooooh!  A jacuzzi!!

Nancy:  Yes!  How you say it?

Me:  Ja-coo-zee.

Nancy:  Ya-coo-zing.

Me:  Exactly.

Trio's Password

Clyde and I are in that possibly annoying segment of dog owners who speak conversationally to their dogs.  And often if one of us asks the dog a question, the other of us will answer. 

Today Clyde told me he had opened a new online account.

Clyde:  The secret password is my mother's maiden name.

Me:  OK. (Looking at Trio who was sitting at my feet)  Trio, what's your mother's maiden name?

Clyde for Trio:  Bitch.

It's not really about religion. It's more about geography.

We have an editorial policy here at Melicious Details that precludes us from discussing religions or politics.

Except you also have to understand these three things:

1.  When it's your own blog, you can make statements like "we have..." to imply that a) you have a staff and b) you have a policy.
2. The post about Scientology did not count because we all agreed Scientology is not a religion, it is crazy talk.
3. This story is kind of funny so we overriding our own policy.

Our policy pretty much states that funny overrides most everything, including embarrassing our husband.

When recently asked by friends if he got to approve any Melicious Details posts about him, our husband Clyde replied:  No. Not at all.

But back to our story about religions.

When I grew up in San Jose it was abundantly Christian, because those were the olden days before the word silicon was ever attached to the word valley.  Maybe even before the word silicon was invented. In those days, everyone I knew was either Catholic or Protestant.  If you were something else, I did not know you. For example, in my neighborhood, if you were Catholic, you went to Saint Victor's.  If you were Protestant, you went any number of places because it was not that simple to be Protestant, you had to be a flavor.  Like Presbyterian.  Except to me it just seemed like being Protestant was an umbrella term meaning you weren't Catholic.

But I discovered that if you were a kid growing up on the East Coast, you had an entirely different view of religious options. On a business trip to New Jersey, I stayed over one night to visit our friends, Barbara and Jack, and their 7 year old daughter Farrah. The first morning I was there, we had this conversation:

Barbara: Would you like a toasted bagel for breakfast?

Me: Yes, I love bagels!

Farrah: Are you Jewish?

Me (smiling): No. And one of my friends who is Jewish told me I would be his mother's worst nightmare.

Farrah: Are you Catholic?

Me: No...

Farrah now looks really puzzled. 

Farrah: Greek Orthodox??

I burst out laughing because really.  Me?  The WASP from San Jose who barely knows that Greek Orthodox is a religion?

Me: No, not Greek Orthodox. I'm Protestant.

Farrah wrinkles up her little nose and says: What's that??

The Future's So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades

A few weeks ago I was driving when the sun decided to come out so I had to rummage around in my purse with one hand to find my sunglasses.  The reason I could only use one hand is because of course I was texting driving with the other, but I did manage to extract the sunglasses from the case and put them on.

This is what I eventually discovered I was wearing:

You would be surprised how long it took me to figure this out.   

So the first time this happens, I pull over to the side of the road (just like I always do when texting!) and pop the lens back in. But wait, now the lens is covered in fingerprints and oh by the way so is the other one, where is that special Only Use This On Your Glasses! cleaning cloth or will the silk top I am wearing today work instead?  I love being late to meetings.

I've had these particular Ray-Ban sunglasses a long time and I like them, but they have caused me to learn something about myself.  And that is that I am not really a patient person. 

And also that I find having to ASSEMBLE MY SUNGLASSES before wearing them to be a freaking pain in the ass.

I think you will agree that if a lens pops out maybe once or twice? No worries. But now every time I take these Ray-Bans out of the case, this is what I have to deal with.

So yeah.  I went out and bought some new sunglasses yesterday.

Man vs. Wetsuit

Clyde's upcoming surfing trip required a visit to a local surf shop.  Even though he was not buying a wetsuit, we ended up in the wetsuit department, which has that rubber-like smell that makes me kind of nauseous.

There were two dressing rooms to choose from. They were separated by a thin wall that didn't go to the ceiling and had doors that didn't go all the way to the floor.  Underneath one dressing room door, I could see large bare feet and hairy ankles so I presumed there was a man inside.  Clyde went into the other room with his stuff to try on. From the room containing the owner of the bare feet I could hear loud grunting and heavy breathing, and a smacking, thwacking sound which could potentially be confused with slapping or spanking. I opened the door to Clyde's room and looked at him like "Are you hearing that??" 

He smiled at me, but didn't say anything. If we talked, the guy next door would hear us.

I mouth the words "WHAT IS HE DOING IN THERE??"

Clyde mouths back "He is trying to take off a wetsuit."

 I have to walk away because I start laughing in my really loud laugh, which causes the salesgirl to approach me and say, "M'am, can I help you?"  I point at the dressing room where all the noise is happening.  "I think he's in trouble."

Salesgirl:   Sir, how's it going in there?
Man:  Uhh...(gasp)...I uhh....(thwack)...Shit!...I'm...uhhh...
Salesgirl:  Do you need another size?
Man:  God, no. I might need you to rescue me out of this one.

I look down and see black neoprene bunched around his legs.  He's getting close to extricating himself. Which eventually happens because as we were leaving, he finally emerges from the dressing room looking like a hot sweaty mess.

Sadly this experience caused My Evil Twin to come up with this idea as something to do with a houseguest who has overstayed their welcome:

1. Convince them they need to buy a full-body wetsuit. The 6mm-thick ones are best.

2. Once at the surf shop, tell them that wetsuits run big so they should try on a size smaller than they normally wear.  Like if they are Large, they should definitely start with a Medium.

3. After they are in the dressing room and have the wetsuit approximately three quarters on (which is as far as it is going to go anyway), make up an emergency that requires you leave the surf shop right away.

4. As they try to get the wetsuit off, say things like "How much longer is this going to take?" and "Is there any way you can hurry it up at all?"

Oh Man.  I am going straight to hell.

Eye Witness News

On Sunday Clyde was working on the gate he has been building and when using the grinder (is that what it that tool is called? grinder? sander? skillsaw? I'm not sure.), something flew up into his eye.  The next morning, after lots of eyedrops and not too much sleep, he had a very red and painful looking right eye.

Clyde: If I fold up my upper eye lid do you think you could  look at my eye?
Me:  No!  Ugh.  <insert retching noise here>
Clyde:  You can't look?
Me:  Eyeballs are so gross.
Clyde:  It feels like there's still something in my eye.
Me:   I might barf just talking about it.
Clyde:  <silence>
Me:  OK. Let me call the eye doctor for you.

He goes off to the appointment I have arranged for him and after a while I get a text that says:  It was a piece of metal the size of a VW bug.  I think I could sell it as scrap on Craigslist.

Mistaken Amenity

I recently stayed at a resort in Hawaii that has redone their spa since the last time I was there.  This resort also has all kinds of facilities for working out or playing tennis or for spinning classes or any number of activities that involve sweating. Clyde and I always go with our friends Jim and Abraham, and we always have the same conversation.

Jim:  The spinning class is at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.  Do you guys want come with us?
Clyde:  Yes.
Me:  No.
Jim:  Missy, are you sure?
Me:  Yes.
Abraham:  Missy, it will be fun!
Me:  It's too much sweating.
Abraham:  That's true.  It's a lot of sweating.
Jim:  Missy, what about taking a class this afternoon? We could do Fitness Pump at 3:00.
Me:  I don't do anything with the word "pump" in the title.

I then go to the spa and get a massage because not only does it not involve sweating, it doesn't even really involve moving.  After my massage I check out the newly remodeled spa vanity area where they supply lotion, sunscreen, mouthwash, hairdryers, etc. Many of the amenities are by a particular Hawaiian brand, but there is one generic spray-pump bottle on the counter with a handmade label that says "Hairspray".

As I'm drying my hair, a heavily sweating woman (has the spinning class just ended?) comes in, grabs the bottle marked "Hairspray", sprays it under both of her arms and walks out.

Should I have run after her to tell her? I didn't. So for the rest of the day I could not stop thinking about how it would feel to have hairspray in your armpits. When it was 88 degrees outside. And humid.

When Aphasia Strikes: The Holiday Edition

After my last post where I made fun of Clyde's aphasia, I was reminded that I had my very own memorable aphasic experience which some people now feel the need to bring up EVERY Christmas.  So before you hear it from them, I'll just share it myself.

Each year, the Sister Wives get together for a Christmas lunch where we exchange amusing or even nice gifts. At this particular party, Desiree had given us gifts that had little cashmere bundles tied to the top. I just knew they were socks. When It came time to open our presents, I insisted on going first.

Me:  Socks!

Desiree:  Nooooo....

As I unfolded the "socks" I could see they were hand-shaped.

Me:  Oh!!  Muffins!!

I now wear them when I am having my English Mittens for breakfast.

It's not hard to see how a brain can misfire and get confused between muffins/mittens or nozzle/muzzle.  But this - my REALLY favorite aphasia story - is harder to explain:

My friend Dee and I were having brunch. I'd ordered pancakes and she'd ordered eggs.  I could not possibly eat all of the pancakes that were delivered to me, so there was quite a bit left on my plate when I was done.  As we sat there chatting, Dee looked at me and said "Can I have a bite of your hamburger?"

When Aphasia Strikes

You know how sometimes you are thinking of one word, but inexplicably say another?

We were having dinner with our friends Sue and Rick and the conversation wandered to the topic of different breeds of dogs.  The background on this is that when we were first married, Clyde and I had an Irish Terrier named Raleigh.

Sue:  Didn't people always think Raleigh was an Airedale?

Me:  Yes, which was weird to me because Irish Terriers are reddish and Airedales are brown and black.

Clyde:  I think it was because they had similar nozzles.

There was a few moments of silence while we were all thinking:  nozzle?  Did he just say nozzle? 

Me:  Maybe you mean MUZZLE.

Clyde:  Right. Muzzle.