FireVaney's

Every time Ma or Stepdude flushed the toilet, their, um, deposits wound up on the floor of the basement. The plumber they called in sent a root grinding “rod” through the sewer pipe that ran beneath the front lawn. Somewhere on the other side of the street, the rod got stuck and the plumber couldn’t reel the thing back. To Ma, I said, over the phone, “Sounds like the hook of a monster movie.” The plumber told Ma and Stepdude that the rod wouldn’t budge until the city dug up the street for it. This was particularly bad news for Stepdude, as the bathroom was his favorite room in the house—and the toilet, his favorite seat. So he, Ma, and their bear-sized shaggy dog had to spend a week in a hotel room. When a city crew finally got around to digging up the street (a major suburban artery) in front of their house, they discovered that they’d gouged out the wrong patch of earth. Meaning: They’d have to fill the cavity they’d made, repair the street and the grassy parkway, and start all over

Start: The dog did not enjoy the tuna casserole, and by “dog” I do not mean Sally’s pet collie, I means Sally’s husband, Al. When we stop to think about the things that do not matter – which is something we often do – then, when the time comes, we check our watches and eat our respective tuna casseroles. We eat the tuna casseroles because we know Grandma would be sad if we did not. Thus, or hence, or hence-thus, the problem becomes one of consumption. Finally, the problem is ALWAYS one of consumption. What do you think about Al’s dilemma with the tuna casserole? Beets are enjoyed by cats in the winter when strawberries are not in bloom. DO strawberries bloom? No. Yes? No. I wouldn’t know. I am not a strawberry farmer. Who told you otherwise? Who led you astray? And why would you believe his or hers or their words over mine? What I feel the next time we meet when you are not sad with happiness in the tuna casserole. I haven’t – I couldn’t tell you about the last time I ate apple sauce i