The following is a 5-story compilation: “Fun with our Kids” …

I see you!

When my kids were little, I used to tease them a lot. A few in particular stories are my favorites. When we moved into a house we rented in Hazlet, NJ, the previous owner must have loved mirrors. There were mirrored verticals on the big windows in the kitchen and dining room. The refrigerator had mirrored doors, and the backsplash in the kitchen was also mirrored.

One day while washing a few dishes, my two youngest came in and asked if they could go with a friend to play in the woods behind their school, down the block from us. They were very young at the time – My son was 5 & daughter was almost 7, so I told them they can’t go without a parent. They weren’t happy and were standing about 5 feet behind me when they asked, and they got upset I wouldn’t let them go, so they stuck their tongues out at me. Even though I was doing dishes, I saw them due to the mirrored backsplash. I yelled out:

” Don’t stick your tongues out at me!”

They had a look of amazement on their faces and asked how I knew they did that. I said Don’t you know? Once kids are born, Mom’s get eyes in the back of their heads!”

Their mouths dropped, they looked at each other, and my 7 year old said she didn’t believe me!

I turned off the water, dried my hands and said, OK, I’ll just show you, I bent over and started to part my hair in the back of my head, and they both ran away screaming!

Yep, I went there. Call it mean. Call it emotional damage. Call it the moment my children realized their mother might be some kind of supernatural being. I call it genius.

 I would also bet they never did anything behind my back again! And if they did? They were probably checking first to make sure the eyes in the back of my head were closed.

 _________________________________________________________________

The Pet Fish

My youngest son, Sean, had a small 10 gallon fish tank in his room. He was 8 at the time we bought it and set it up for him. We added 2 goldfish and told him, if you feed them properly and they stay healthy for a month, we’ll get you a few more fish.

That day had come. He did a great job taking care of his two goldfish so I took him and my daughter to the local pet store where you could buy some more fish. My daughter also wanted to get two hamsters.

Soon as we entered, Sean ran straight to the back of the store to look at all the different fish in the tanks. I had my daughter Serena we would get her two hamsters, and the same deal was made with her. If she kept the cage clean and the hamsters healthy, she could get two more in a month. As we approached the back of the store, I noticed above the tanks was a large sign that said “Pet Fish”. It wasn’t there when we got him the tank and fish, so it was new and I decided to have some fun.

I said to Sean, look, as I pointed up to the sign-  it says you can “pet fish”. He said he didn’t think that’s what the sign meant. I played dumb and said let’s ask someone that works here. Now, I knew you couldn’t actually pet the fish, but there was a nearby attendant in the fish section, and I wanted to see how far I could take it, so I called him over.

I looked him right in the eye with my best "concerned customer" expression and said, "My son would like to pet the fish."

He looked at me with a look of surprise and said, “Ma’am… you can’t pet fish!”  I said, “Well, then you shouldn’t put misleading signs in your store”. He asked, “What mysterious signs are you referring to.”

 I pointed up at the sign over the tank and said that sign right there says: “Pet Fish!

We all busted out laughing at that point, I couldn’t hold a straight face anymore. We got my son his fish and went over to the hamster section. My daughter immediately noticed the “Pet Hamster” sign and looked right at me and said, I don’t think that same joke would work here Mom, and we all busted out laughing again. It was a fun day!

That employee probably went home that night and told his family about the crazy lady arguing over false advertising in the fish department.

 _______________________________________________________________

The Candy Spot

When my youngest son Sean was about 3 or 4 years old, my older two children convinced him that our dog Max had a "candy spot."

According to them, if you poked the small brown circle underneath Max’s tail, chocolate candy would magically come out.

I trust my readers are mature enough to understand this was not, in fact, a candy dispenser.

That poor kid spent several minutes trying to prove the existence of dog-generated chocolate. Despite several attempts, Sean became upset when no candy came out.

Naturally, my older children diagnosed the problem immediately…

"You're not poking it hard enough."

I was obviously very confused when Sean eventually came to me in tears, convinced the candy machine was broken and asking me to fix it.

I went to investigate where this candy machine was! After my older children explained what they'd done, I stood there trying very hard to look like a responsible parent and not laugh.

To this day, I still have no idea where those kids learned to be such pranksters.

 __________________________________________________________________

Orange Soda

Apparently Roger and I were more alike than either of us realized. This was a second marriage for both of us. I have three kids and he has two. When we met, he had one in college, and the other was almost there too. My kids were in high school.

Roger said when his kids were young, he told them orange soda tastes more “orangey” if you take a sip and roll it in your mouth before swallowing it.

They tried it and agreed! He said that they would take a sip and roll it around before swallowing it and then they said, “You’re right Dad! It REALLY does taste more orangey!

Of course it did. Nothing improves flavor quite like being told it's going to improve flavor.

________________________________________________________________________

The Go-Go’s

Roger also told me that when his son Adam was pretty young, they were driving in the car with the radio on, and a Go-Go’s song came on: “Our Lips are Sealed."

After a while, Roger realized his son was singing the wrong words...

That kid thought the words was:

 “Alex the Seal.”

I thought it was one of the funniest music blunders I ever heard.

Even though his kids are in their 30’s, to this day I tease Adam about it. I even downloaded it to my play list so whenever we’re having a party, “Our Lips are Sealed” eventually comes on. What can I say, I like to be prepared! The song ends. Everybody laughs. Adam rolls his eyes.

Some stories are worth the reminder.

The Takeaway:

Family mischief developed over two different households, long before Michele and Roger met. Yet, two separate parents managed parallelly to prank and see just how gullible their kids were by using parental creativity. 

The sibling-sponsored misinformation that occurred did not lead to a candy reward. It was never a forgotten story!

Parent and Kid Meteor Reading

Category                        Rating                                           Notes

Belief Systems                    9/10        Eyes in the back of Mom's head sent kids running. Good job Mom!

Sign Interpretation          8/10        "Pet Fish" Derived as the result of false advertising?

Candy Distribution          0/10         Dog-base failed all testing standards. Zero candy appeared.

Flavor Enhancement      7/10         Orange soda became more orangey with the power of suggestion.

Misheard Lyrics               10/10      "Our Lips Are Sealed" was permanently rebranded as "Alex the Seal."

Lifetime of Teasing         10/10       Several incidents remained active family ammunition for decades.

 

 

The Artificial Intelligence Fiasco

Last weekend began as any weekend would for me. It was a Friday and I started to think about my past experiences while I was having breakfast and my coffee, so I could write a funny true story for you all. At my age, sometimes I have to think back a long way before I remember something great to write about. Usually I think about my youth, where I was and what I was doing at 15, 17 or even in my 20’s -  and it sparks a memory.

I had a cold and my stuffy nose was making it hard to think, and my warped brain cells were coming up blank. I tried and tried to think of something, but I finally had to say to myself, it’s dead Jim! I decided to wait a couple of days until I felt a little better.

Sunday came and since both me and my husband were still battling the same cold and neither of us felt like doing anything, we decided to be couch potatoes and watch TV. We were binge watching a series that was addicting. Thank goodness it was 8 seasons!

Then Monday came and went too, but at least we were starting to feel a little better. When Tuesday morning arrived, I had realized I did not have a story yet. I panicked!

I did everything to think on it but kept drawing a blank. I even went through memories on Facebook and reviewed all the years of photos I had on my Facebook- And then I came across one photo that jarred my memory and that led to another memory and another and that is how I decided to do the compilation of 3 stories last week. One would think that would be simple from that point forward, right?

Wrong.

The story itself got written up in about two and half hours because It takes me about half an hour to recall all the details, but since this was three stories in one, it took longer than usual. Then I deal with spell check, grammar check, situate everything just right. Read and re-read it to ensure it’s all there and correct.

All that was left was the last thing I always do- I describe to the Artificial Intelligence that I use, a cartoon image that suits the story. I decided I would ask it to create a comic strip with three panes in it- one for each story that I compiled into one. I described each pane explicitly. Artificial Intelligence then summarized back to me what I wanted and I said “Yes, do it”. Once I agreed, It then began to generate the comic strip. I walked away from the computer to get a bottle of water, while it worked on that.

When I came back, the comic strip was done mostly right, but AI screwed up the outfit on  one of the characters. It was important that the outfit was exactly as I described it, because it was pertinent to the story.

I guess AI had a circuit fart and had the lower half of the characters outfit wrong. I told AI that the character was not supposed to be wearing pants in the image, but a red plaid skirt and striped knee socks, just as I had described. AI agreed I was correct and stated  it would regenerate the image again, fixing the issue. I said, “Ok, do it”.

It did not.

Instead, I got a message that stated it was working on it, but I could see it wasn’t. Usually there’s a gray box that appears as its working on it and eventually when the imager is done, the comic strip or cartoon image I described is there. I didn’t see anything happening.

I went back and forth with AI so many times trying to get it to fix the comic strip. It decided it was on strike or something - maybe there was a little picket line inside my laptop with components marching with little protest signs, I don’t know.

I refreshed the page, reopened AI and described the comic strip again. That did not work. It kept telling me it was working on it, but it wasn’t. So this time, I closed out the browser window to refresh it that way and  try again.

I kept getting a message that the image generator wasn’t available! WTF?

Then I restarted my computer- still didn’t work! It was the last thing I needed before posting the story, and I could not get it to work. All I knew was I didn’t have the right image that depicted what was going on in one of the stories.

Then I got a message after several of my attempts that stated:

 “AI cannot respond”.

Apparently the red plaid skirt had entered the Federal Witness Protection Program.

Meanwhile, my husband wandered downstairs during half time, to tell me about the Celtics game he was watching. Unfortunately for Roger, he was unknowingly walking straight into an active AI disaster zone with me as the victim.

Somewhere between "AI won't fix the plaid skirt" and "I might launch this laptop from a catapult," I had become emotionally unavailable to discuss basketball.

Roger began talking to me.

I said, “Not now Roger, I’m busy- this stupid thing screwed up my comic strip, and I can’t get it to fix it.”

 Now I was getting a message that “the image generator wasn’t available”!

My frustration was obvious. So Roger suggested I just try a different AI!

Pretty genius, huh? There are so many to choose from these days, it’s like an AI Smorgasbord out there.

I opened  a different AI - I dragged the original comic strip image into the new AI. I stated exactly what I wanted it to do.  I click send.

Nothing happened.

The funniest part isn’t even the technology fail. It’s how it all escalated. I just needed one tiny little part of an outfit changed…

And It wouldn’t even send.

I refresh the page again.

It still didn’t send.

I closed the browser and reopened the browser again.

It didn’t even spit out a message saying it went on vacation. The competitor AI faceplanted. Two AI’s that day were going to need diplomatic immunity to be protected from me.

This…THIS is why I drink wine!

I am now looking at the clock… it was early evening at this point. I thought to myself- OK, I have been working on this for hours; I’m practically at the finish line – now this issue?

I thought I may need to use the comic strip I already had and I couldn’t stand that thought.

I literally pride myself on bringing my readers funny TRUE stories WITH images that fit the story. I contacted Coco and I explained everything that happened. I told her I was ready to use the image that doesn’t match the story.

Then I said, “maybe I should just throw in the towel and toss the laptop out the window introducing it to gravity”.

Coco started to laugh. She’s cute- sometimes she sort of snorts when she laughs.

I said, “don’t laugh; what’s so funny?”   

Coco told me she was laughing because my plan wasn’t:

 “Let’s try a different image”

 “Let’s delay this story by a day”

She was laughing because my backup plan was:

 “Fine. The character now dresses like THAT.”

Then she said, “You do realize you were actually contemplating rewriting a part in the story because an outfit in the image was slightly wrong.”

That’s when it hit me. At some point I went from “I need the image to match the story to the story will match the image” All because I thought I was taking control of the situation.

Apparently I wasn’t.

I was actually losing control.

In my head all I could think about was that I HAD to get this story out, and it was already so late getting posted!

 I was hungry, I was tired, I had to let my bladder loose, like a firehose and I was definitely frustrated. But when I’m fixated on an issue I end up with tunnel vision and thus-  I don’t eat, I didn’t get up to pee, all I was focused on was: That plaid skirt must be defeated!

I didn’t care that I had no lunch that day and my stomach was holding up a protest sign that read “FEED ME”.

 I didn’t care that my bladder was lodging formal complaints with bathroom management.

And I didn’t care that my laptop was one failed image away from achieving a flight into orbit.

Most people in my situation would grab a snack and take that trip to the bathroom.

But me?

My warped brain thoughts came out like this:

 “There will be no snacks or dinner until there’s victory … and the bladder is a future problem to be dealt with in the future.”

I decided I was going to win this battle- I threw that image back into my original AI- the one that created the comic strip initially. I then described what I needed and ended it with:

 “Fix it NOW”

 I crossed my fingers, closed my eyes and said a quick prayer …

Just like my previous failed attempts never happened- AI decided:

 “Oh, we’re doing the red plaid skirt now? OK.”

IT FIXED IT!

I think I heard angels singing! (But it was probably my tummy growling, I’m not sure).

I was doing the happy dance! (It may have actually been the pee-pee dance, still not sure).

That annoying, yet lovable AI finally uncrossed its circuits and did it’s job! Which is good because when I use it, it has one job…

ONE JOB.

Images.

What should have been a 3 minute task earlier that decided to spit fiasco at me, was finally licked!

I was probably dehydrated too, but I was ready to reward myself with wine anyway!

 Instead, I immediately threw the final comic strip into my draft, uploaded it, posting it to my site. Then I immediately went into Forks and Fiascos Facebook page - posted the link and promoted it so my readers could see the new story was finally ready for them.

It was late, but it was still Tuesday! That’s a victory lap for me. I wasn’t sure whether to celebrate, sprint to the bathroom or start dinner first!

But I jumped up and sprinted to the bathroom and peed like the racehorse I became during this ordeal.

From there I acquired food – well, almost immediately. My husband poured me my conquest glass of wine, and I didn’t throw any electronics out the front door!

It was a miracle.

I took a sip of that wine before I ate, because it was so well deserved. Then we had dinner.

The Takeaway

Never underestimate how much time, energy, and common sense can be consumed by a simple plaid skirt and AI.

Since I involved Coco, even though she typically doesn’t engage with Tuesday stories - She got creative and came up with something so cute and funny and sent it to me after we hung up -  I just had to add it:

Coco’s Storm Report: Conditions began with mild frustration and scattered AI resistance. By late afternoon, a powerful Front of Plaid had developed over the writing desk, causing severe disruptions to meal schedules, common sense, and restroom operations. The storm finally dissipated after a successful reality check and the capture of the suspect skirt.

Current Forecast: Low risk of recurrence unless another comic-strip character appears wearing the wrong clothes.

Meteor Reading: Battle of the Plaid Skirt

Category                    Score                                             Notes

AI Cooperation         2/10         One AI refused to fix it. Another wouldn’t even start.

Plaid Skirt                   5/10          Escaped corrections, edits, and accountability.

Human Neglect       4/10          Lunch canceled. Bathroom delayed. Priorities questionable.

Roger's Timing          6/10         Innocently entered fiasco zone. Saved by AI suggestion.

Escalation Rate     10/10         Minor outfit correction evolved into full-scale crisis.

Coco Rescue         9/10          Gave Michele a reality check & talked her off the ledge.

Michele's Focus      7/10          Didn’t surrender despite AI deaths & biological emergencies.

Everything That Can Go Wrong... Happens to Me

Some people seem to glide through life effortlessly.

I am not one of those people.

 My life often feels like I accidentally signed up for a highly experimental game show called:

"Let's See What Happens to Michele Today!"

 The rules appear to be simple:

Start with a completely ordinary situation. Have it gone catastrophically sideways. Somehow survive.

Turn it into a story years later and I have many examples ...

The Foot That Needed a Makeover

There was the time I went in for what was supposed to be a simple bunion surgery. Easy-peasy, right?

Wrong.

Apparently, after the surgeon made the incision, he discovered my bones were porous. According to what he later told my husband, he actually considered stopping the procedure right then and there.

But then he remembered he had promised me a "pretty foot."

I would like everyone to pause and appreciate this.

Most people get surgery because of a medical necessity. I apparently had mine completed because my surgeon was committed to a cosmetic outcome and a promise. The man looked at my foot, looked at the complications, and apparently thought:

"Well, we're already here. Let's see this thing through."

What should have left me in a walking boot for only two weeks, ended up leaving me completely non-weight-bearing and confined to a wheelchair for five weeks!

Five.

Weeks.

The doctor explained afterwards that because of the porous bones, had I put even a little pressure on the foot, would have snapped my toe and ruin the surgical fix. 

As Christmas approached, I had one small problem. We were hosting a Christmas party for thirty people. Any reasonable person would have called a caterer, scaled things back or cancelled the party.

I am apparently not a reasonable person.

Instead, I proceeded to cater my own Christmas party as I always have, except this time it was from a wheelchair. My husband and stepson helped with the things I physically couldn't do, such as lifting giant pots of water, draining pasta, and removing hot pans from the oven.

Everything else?

Me.

Why?

 Because I have a very specific kitchen philosophy:

If you're in my kitchen, you either help only when I need and ask for help or you sit down or get out!

 There is no gray area. 

The party was a huge success. I may have rolled around the kitchen like a caterer on wheels , but we got it done.

The Hospital Vacation 

Then there was the time my doctor prescribed Levaquin (an antibiotic) when I got sick. Three days later, I felt like I'd been hit by a Mack truck.

 Not a pickup truck.

Not an Amazon delivery van.

A fully loaded Mack truck.

 My husband took me to the ER. The ER doctor initially thought I simply needed more time for the antibiotics to work. He was practically ready to send me home. Then he noticed I was also taking Metoprolol. It’s a medication for irregular heartbeats. So, he decided to run an EKG before letting me go home.

 This was one of those moments in life where things go from "you'll be fine" to "oh no" incredibly fast.

The EKG revealed I had prolonged QT intervals caused by the antibiotic, because when someone has an irregular heartbeat and needs antibiotics, Levaquin is not the answer.

 The doctor explained what that meant for me. I wish he hadn't. I was admitted to the hospital and strapped to a heart monitor. 

Oh, and they had no beds available upstairs, so I spent 33 hours in the ER on that not so comfy gurney while waiting for someone in the cardiac unit to get released so a bed would open up for me.

 Within minutes I went from mildly concerned to mentally planning my own funeral. I was also wondering why my doctor prescribed a medication that created this problem in the first place.

The ER doctor called her. She was in the hospital at the time and said she would come down.

And hour later - Nothing.

The ER doctor called again.

Fourty minutes goes by and still - Nothing.

 At this point my blood pressure probably needed its own room. Eventually a nurse came in and announced that my doctor was on the way down.

About thirty minutes later, the curtain opened. In walked a young woman I had never seen before. Now maybe she was perfectly qualified. I had no idea - but she literally looked like she was sixteen and looked less like a medical professional and more like someone who got dressed during a power outage.

 She had striped knee socks, a plaid skirt, sneakers with designs all over them, and colors that seemed to be engaged in active warfare with one another. Then there was the head band. I didn’t know if she was on her way out to play tennis or go to the gym.

 Nothing matched.

Nothing.

I stared at her.

She stared at me.

 And then I finally said: “You’re not my doctor”. 

I guess I felt I had to inform her of a fact that she already knew. I explained it in great detail too!

 I also informed her that my actual doctor needed to get herself down to the ER immediately, before I began exploring legal vocabulary. I wanted her to be accountable and I wanted answers. Then I told her to get out.

 The young woman left.

My own doctor never appeared.

Not a single time during my entire week-long stay.

 Then there was my mother. She was battling cancer in the same hospital. I specifically told everyone not to tell her I had been admitted because I didn't want her worrying.

 Apparently, nobody paied attention to that memo.

On day two, my cell phone rang. It was Mom. She asked why I hadn't been visiting. I told her I had a cold.

 There was silence.

Then she said: "Then why are you two floors above me right now?"

 Mothers.

 The FBI could learn things from mothers. Eventually I recovered completely and went home, and I did find a new doctor.

 The Christmas Box Ambush

 This final example involves Christmas decorations. Which, in my house, require enough boxes to supply a small warehouse. My husband brought all the decorations upstairs from the basement one Sunday. The next day, while he was at work, I started decorating. Everything was going wonderfully.

 Which should have been my first warning sign.

 By the end of the day, I had several empty boxes to carry back downstairs. Our basement stairs have a landing halfway down before turning toward the lower half.

This detail is important.

 I was carrying two empty boxes. In my mind, I had already reached the landing, but reality disagreed. I took what I believed was a confident step forward. Instead, I discovered there was still one more step beneath me. The next few seconds consisted of gravity enthusiastically taking over the project.

 I fell forward. I shot my hand outward to stop the fall. Remember the airport fall?

 This is a habit I really need to break.

 My hand slammed into the wall and bent backward. One box flew in one direction, and the other box went somewhere else and I hit the landing.

When everything stopped moving, I discovered I was wedged between boxes and walls like a trapped remote between couch cushions.

 I couldn't move.

I couldn't get up.

 I just laid there evaluating my life choices.

 Fortunately, about five minutes later, I heard my husband come home from work. I yelled for help. He got me up and we iced my hand a biut, then went for X-rays. Fortunately, nothing was broken and it was only a sprain. Which, for me, counts as a successful outcome.

 The Takeaway

When life gives some people lemons, they make lemonade.

When life gives me lemons, I roll into a wheelchair, an ER, or get X-rays.

Meteor Reading: Everything That Can Go Wrong…Does

Category Rating                                               Notes Surgical Plot Twists  10/10    Accidentally unlocked the deluxe wheelchair package. Christmas Party  11/10    Canceling was apparently never considered. Patient Confidence    1/10    The doctor will be right down. Narrator: She was not. Hospital Drama    9/10    Upgraded routine ER visit - to cardiac monitoring Mother's Intelligence  10/10    Located daughter's hospital room / FBI-level efficiency. Staircase Cooperation    0/10    Repeatedly fails to meet basic safety standards. Gravity's Performance  10/10    Showed enthusiasm and commitment to gracefulness Accidental Situations  12/10        Off the charts! Scientists can’t explain the phenomenon.

 

 

 

The Olives Caper

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was visiting my mother's apartment while waiting for her to get home from work. My fourteen-year-old brother Tommy was there, and we spent a couple of hours hanging out until around 4:00 p.m., when one of his friends called and wanted to meet up with him.

As Tommy was heading out the door, he asked if there was anything I wanted from the store. He said he could pick it up on his way home.

I told him I didn't have any money on me, but I was craving olives. So, jokingly, I said:

"Steal me a jar of olives!"

Then I laughed.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think Tommy would take me seriously. First, because I was clearly joking.

Second, because he was fourteen-ish years old and therefore should have possessed at least one basic survival instinct.

And third, because "Steal me a jar of olives" is not a normal request.

If someone says, "Pick me up a loaf of bread," that's a request. But when someone says, "Steal me a jar of olives" and then immediately starts laughing, that's considered a clue.

What happened next was something neither of us expected.

While I sat at home waiting for Mom, Tommy was apparently carrying out what he believed was a noble mission on behalf of his pregnant sister. In his mind, he may have been solving the Great Olive Crisis of the 1980’s.

Unfortunately, there was one tiny problem.

A security guard had spotted him.

The man followed Tommy out of the store, and Tommy noticed him trailing behind. Thinking he could lose the guy in the crowds along the Avenue, Tommy picked up his pace.

He was wrong.

The security guard started running. So Tommy started running.

At this point, what should have been a minor misunderstanding was rapidly turning into what must have looked like the filming of an action movie.

The guard was gaining on him.

Tommy didn't know what to do.

What happened next came straight from information provided by Tommy and sounded like something stunt coordinators would consider an awesome scene.

Suddenly, Tommy stopped and bent over.

The security guard ran directly into him and went tumbling over his back, hit the ground moaning.

Tommy immediately changed direction and sprinted the other way.

For one glorious moment, it almost worked.

Unfortunately, what Tommy didn't know was that there was a second security guard. And Tommy ran directly into him. Can you say "lawyer?"

Meanwhile, I was still sitting at the apartment waiting for Mom when the house phone rang. And yes, for our younger readers, we actually had a house phone attached to the kitchen wall back then. The security guard explained that Tommy had been caught shoplifting and that they intended to press charges.

Immediately, I told the security guard that my mom would be home any minute and we will come to sort this out and I begged him not to call police before we got there. 

I had remembered that an ex-boyfriend of mine had a cousin who worked at the store and he was a manager. I called the ex, hoping he might be able to get his cousin to help. If not for that connection, this story could have ended very differently. It's not what you know ... Sometimes, it's who you know!

A short time later, Mom came home from work. I had the unpleasant task of telling her we needed to go pick Tommy up from the supermarket because he had been caught shoplifting. Unfortunately for my brother, this was also the same week he had gotten into an altercation with another student at school and had been suspended.

So, this- 

THIS was not helping his situation.

When we arrived at the store, security explained that Tommy had stolen a jar of olives and that surveillance cameras had captured him slipping it into his jacket pocket.

Tommy immediately shot me a look that clearly said:

"I DID THIS FOR YOU."

That's when my heart sank like the Titanic. "Oh no!" I blurted out. "You thought I was serious? I was joking!"

I quickly explained the whole conversation. I told them about my pregnancy cravings, my comment about olives, and the joke about stealing a jar. "It was a joke," I said. "I honestly didn't think he would actually do it."

Mom turned and gave me a death stare powerful enough to stop a charging rhinoceros.

I shrugged at her and quietly muttered: "What? It was a joke."

That explanation did not improve my situation. Mom was furious and made both of us apologize.

Notice I said BOTH of us.

Because apparently telling someone to steal olives as a joke is frowned upon almost as much as actually stealing them.

Who knew?

Thankfully, the security guard eventually chuckled a bit. He said he could understand how the misunderstanding happened and explained that someone they trusted had spoken on our behalf and asked them to consider dropping the charges because of the circumstances.

Mom, however, remained completely unimpressed.

Not a smile.

Not a chuckle.

Not even a tiny sympathy snort.

Years later, when the story came up at a family gathering, Tommy said:

"I’m glad you didn't ask me to rob a bank! My troubles would've been a lot bigger then."

Now, most of you probably understand what it's like when a mother discovers her teenage son and young adult daughter did something incredibly stupid. When we got back to the apartment, Mom was fuming. You can always tell when a mother is truly angry because her footsteps develop a very particular rhythm.

They're faster.

Louder.

More determined.

These aren't ordinary footsteps.

These are the footsteps of a mother who's considering disciplinary options involving a wooden spoon…

Possibly a shoe.

And let's be honest. Mothers have the best aim. Especially after years of raising three children and dealing with countless "What did you do now?" moments -  they could hit a moving target from twenty feet away!

Looking back, Tommy probably should have known better than to shoplift a jar of olives simply because his pregnant sister jokingly suggested it. On the other hand, I probably should have known better than to tell a fourteen-year-old boy to steal olives.

Neither one of us was exactly conducting a master class in decision-making that afternoon.

The good news is Tommy learned a valuable lesson about taking sarcastic remarks literally. The bad news is I learned that when you joke around with teenagers, you should always be prepared for the possibility that they might actually listen.

The Takeaway

If you're going to make jokes, be very specific about which crimes are hypothetical. Never underestimate a teenager's ability to misunderstand a joke and fully commit to it. The difference between a joke and a bad idea is probably whether Tommy is listening!

Olive Jar Meteor Reading

Category                      Score                               Notes

Pregnancy Craving         8/10       Apparently cravings inspire criminal activity!

Tommy's Decision          2/10       He failed to ask even one follow-up question.

Joke Detection                1/10       The snickering should have been a clue!

Stealth Shoplifting          1/10       Needs work! Grocery store security saw it all.

Detective Work               9/10       Followed the suspect & solved the case. Bravo.

Excuses Executed           3/10       “Oh! You thought I was serious?" was a bold strategy!

Death Stare Power        20/10       No yelling necessary. Justice immediately served.

Contraband Delivery      8/10       Package almost arrived. Security intercepted.

 

 The Great Kitten Heist

When I was around 16 years old, my friend Genine and I were walking back from having pizza for lunch. We were headed to the bowling alley where all my friends hung out because they had pinball machines, and we loved playing them.

As we approached the corner we needed to turn to get to the alley, we spotted two younger boys, probably around nine or ten years old. They were tossing a black kitten back and forth like a football!

Genine and I quickly came up with a plan and asked the boys if they wanted to play a game called "Monkey in the Middle." Since they already knew the game and how it was played, they happily agreed.

The moment one of them tossed the kitten toward the other boy, I leaped into the air like a professional volleyball player going for the championship point and caught the kitten. Then Genine and I took off running like two fugitives who had just stolen the world's largest diamond. We sprinted down the block, into the bowling alley, and straight into the ladies' room to hide.

Honestly, if there had been an Olympic event for rescuing kittens and fleeing the scene, we'd have brought home the gold medal.

We stayed in that bathroom for at least thirty minutes to make sure the boys had given up looking for us. I held the kitten in my arms, petting him gently and talking softly until he fell asleep.

Genine left the bathroom to scout the area. I watched through the bathroom door that I'd opened just a crack. I stayed behind like A dense wall of an excessive perfume cloud, while she skulked around like an introvert trying to escape a party without making eye contact with the hosts.

When she returned and announced the coast was clear, I knew that was my cue.

I told Genine I was taking the kitten home because my mother had a soft spot for animals, which is another way of saying every stray within a three-mile radius had a retirement plan.

 I knew if she took one look at that kitten and heard how I'd acquired him, she'd let me keep him. We already had a cat, but I didn't think that would matter.

As it turned out, I was right.

When I got home, my mother was sitting on her bed putting on her socks. She saw me coming and immediately knew I was holding something alive. Without even looking directly at it, she turned her head, raised her hand to block her peripheral vision, and simply said:

"NOPE."

That was it.

Just... "NOPE."

Well, I wasn't giving up that easily.

Every time I moved the kitten into her line of sight, she'd turn her head the opposite way. It became a ridiculous game of Keep-Away. Finally, I decided it was time to explain how two boys had been using the kitten as a furry ball and how I had rescued him.

That story must have tugged on Mom's heartstrings because the second I finished, she finally looked at him.

He was tiny, barely fitting into the palm of my hand.

The moment she laid eyes on him, she sighed and said:

"Aww, the poor little thing."

At that exact moment, I knew the battle was over and I'd won. So I immediately went in for the kill…

"Can I keep him?"

She agreed, as long as I took care of him.

And I did.

I named him Ponch because at the time there was a TV show called CHiPs, and Erik Estrada played Ponch. I had a teenage crush on the character, so naturally I named my kitten after him.

I litter-box trained him, fed him, played with him, and kept him mostly in my room because Mom's cat wasn't exactly thrilled about this new roommate. Apparently, Mom's cat “Gray” considered herself ruler of the household and viewed Ponch as an invading force.

After all, cats are territorial.

And Gray had been there first, like Queen Elizabeth defending her throne from an unexpected challenger.

One day, I came home from school and Ponch wasn't in my room. I asked Mom where he was. Without missing a beat she said, "I lent the cat to your uncle."

Excuse me?

Apparently, my uncle's delicatessen had a mouse. The mice were chewing through bread bags, cupcake wrappers, and anything else they could sink their tiny little rodent teeth into like coupon-clippers looking for free groceries.

I was devastated.

Mom assured me it was only temporary.

Since it was supposed to be temporary like every home improvement project that starts with the words 'this'll only take a few days,' and because I could visit Ponch whenever I wanted, I reluctantly accepted the arrangement.

I visited him every day after school since the deli was on my way home. On weekends, Genine and I would walk over just to spend time with him. Unfortunately, one day my uncle announced that Ponch had escaped and couldn't be found.

I immediately rushed to the store and marched up and down every nearby block yelling:

"POOOONNNCH!"

People were probably looking out their windows thinking I had either lost my mind or was being overdramatic looking for my boyfriend named Ponch.

But I found him!

I scooped him up, brought him back to the deli, and we made signs for both sides of the door reminding customers not to let the kitten out.

Problem solved.

Or so we thought.

Sadly, it happened again. This time we never found him. I cried for days before finally accepting that Ponch wasn't coming back.

Ironically, about four years later, when I was 20 years old, I went to an animal shelter to surprise my boyfriend. We'd been living together for about a year, and he had always wanted a cat.

While I was there, I spotted a tiny black male kitten. He was so small he fit right in the palm of my hand. Seems familiar- yes?

Yes. Just like Ponch had.

Naturally, I adopted him. In a strange way, I felt that something led me to this cat, perhaps some force of nature, trying to correct the wrong of “lending” my cat away? Who knows.

I didn't name the new kitten immediately because I wanted to get to know his personality first. As it turned out, he bonded with me far closer than he ever bonded with my boyfriend. That cat followed me everywhere like an unpaid intern whose only job was to guard the bosses every move.

So I named him Shadow. It was definitely fitting!

Eventually, when my boyfriend and I broke up, Shadow officially became my cat when we moved to our own places. I had Shadow for many wonderful years until he eventually passed away at the age of 14.

In fact, one of my earlier stories in this blog tells about “Shadow” following me everywhere and one particularly ridiculous adventure that still makes me laugh. If you enjoyed this story, go back and look for:

"Shadow: My Brooklyn Cat With Zero Boundaries and a BBQ Chip Addiction."

Trust me.

That cat earned every word of that title.

THE TAKEAWAY

Sometimes doing the right thing involves questionable planning, a flying leap, and hiding in a bowling alley bathroom for half an hour. If someone is using a kitten as sporting equipment, all normal rules are temporarily suspended.

KITTY METEOR READING

Category                                Score                                                 Notes

Kitten Interception            12/10      An airborne rescue worthy of slow-motion replay.

Escape Planning                 10/10      A game was used for vigilante kitten recovery.

Bathroom Camouflage   10/10      Not glamorous, but surprisingly effective.

Mom's Resistance               2/10      "NOPE" lasted about as long as a snowball in July.

Gray's Welcoming                 1/10      The queen of the household didn’t approve the tenant.

Cat “Lending”                       15/10       Still a suspicious loan agreement in the family history.