Songs that are not about pickles

Today, as Jacob was getting ready for work, I decided to treat him to a little song and a jig. I broke into dance and started singing an old Spice Girls song -- well, the 20 words of it I remembered, anyway, complete with mumbling in between phrases.

He looked at me and said, "My wife is weeiiird."

Harrumph! See if I serenade you ever again!

* * *

As a child, my mother taught us girls a song called "The Mexican Woodpecker." It goes like this:

The Mexican woodpecker high in the tree,

Peck-peck-peck-pecked all the day.

He grew so ambitious he wore off his beak,

Now you can hear him say:

Oh my beak! Oh my beak!

What a sad day when I lost it.

Hear me sigh, hear me cry.

What a sorry sight to see -- poor me!

One of my unnamed older sisters hated this song. Hated it. She thought it was so sad that the woodpecker lost his beak. My other unnamed older sister delighted in chasing the aforementioned sister around the house, singing this song at the top of her lungs, just to torment her*.

Throughout our two and a half years of marriage, I must have sung this song a number of times, because lately Jacob has started singing "Oh my beak!" at random occasions. It brings joy to my soul. 

*At least, this is what I remember happening. If either sister wants to chime in and set the story straight, be my guest.

The can opener saga continues

Remember that time I warned the Internets not to purchase an 88 cent can opener? Apparently, we didn't learn our lesson, because shortly after writing that post, we purchased the exact. same. one. For some reason, it didn't work out any better than the first time. Shocking, no?

So after Jacob resorted to mutilating another Costco-sized can of peaches with a pair of scissors (those poor scissors have been through so much), we decided enough was enough. Time to break out the big guns.

So we moseyed on over to Bed Bath and Beyond and picked up this sucker:

Oh yes. We forked over the dollars for an electric can opener. I used it once, and it was magical. So effortless! So convenient! I don't know if you realize this, but there is a shortage of left-handed can openers in the world. I myself have never seen one. So if you're left handed like me, and need to open a plethora of cans for dinner, your arm and wrist get mighty tired after a while. (And in case you were wondering, I have tried using hand held can openers with my left hand, but it gets all sorts of tricky and awkward.)

So you can see why it was pretty exciting to have an electric can opener. And then I checked out the reviews on Bed Bath and Beyond's website. (Which, admittedly, we probably should've done before making the purchase.)

This product received a whopping 1.3 stars.

I suddenly feel a sense of foreboding. . . .

Odds and Ends

A few days ago, Jacob and I went out for milkshakes. When we received our receipt, I had to laugh at how the cashier spelled Jacob's name:

I'm going to start calling him Jakeup. "Wake up, Jakeup!"

 * * * 

To the extent of my knowledge, I've never had allergies. But I'm starting to think I might slowly be dying in an allergic reaction to the great outdoors. Or the heat. Or something.

Allow me to explain.

On Memorial Day, I spent the afternoon outside at a birthday celebration for one of my old rooommates. While there, a couple of mosquitoes bit me on my arms and legs. This was a bit of a nuisance, but whatevs. However, the palms of my hands also started itching furiously. I thought maybe a mosquito had bitten those as well, but I couldn't detect any bites. After we left the party, the itching eventually ceased.

Then, last Saturday I went to the park for our library's Grand Opening Celebration/Summer Reading Kick-Off! I was outside for maybe an hour, and again, my hands started itching. This time, the fingers on my right hand began to swell. This was slightly alarming, and once I came home, I held a jar of frozen chicken broth in an attempt to reduce the swelling. Again, my hands eventually stop itching and my fingers shrunk back to the usual size.

Now, on Tuesday Jacob had the day off and we spent the morning going to various stores to shop (and get ideas for his birthday presents). In those few minutes we were walking from our car to the stores, my hands -- you guessed it -- started to itch and swell. This time, it was my left hand that was afflicted. And the swelling was worse than ever. My wedding ring is usually fairly big on me -- to the point that if my hands are cold, I might be afraid of it slipping right off my finger. But at this point, I could barely even twist my ring around, much less remove it off my finger.

You can actually see my ring digging into my skin.

 The moral of the story is, I think I'm doomed to spend the rest of my days inside.

* * *

 Earlier this week, it was so hot in our apartment that I was literally sweating through my shorts. Literally! (After sitting at the computer for awhile and then standing up, a sheen of sweat was left glistening on the chair. [Aren't you glad you just read that?])

The very next day, it was cold enough to warrant wearing slippers and a sweatshirt. And I thought about drinking hot chocolate. Good ol' Utah.