By Dorothy Rosby

Recently, a friend gave me one of those grippers you use to open jar lids. She said she’d found it at a thrift shop and, remembering I’d said I needed one, she’d purchased it for me. I thanked her profusely. How nice to be thought of. Except that I didn’t remember telling her I needed it.

Not that I don’t need it. It’s just that up until that moment, with the gripper staring me in the face, it had not occurred to me how much I need it.

My friend seemed proud of herself for being so thoughtful. She proceeded to tell me her acquisition story, as bargain shoppers often do, and I pretended to listen while I racked my brain. Had I made any comment that would have led her to believe I was having trouble opening jars? I couldn’t remember a single thing. And yet I have had trouble opening jars. If I hadn’t mentioned I needed a gripper, I should have.

My friend was now carrying on about how often she uses her own gripper, as do her mother, her sister, and the neighbor down the street. And then it occurred to me. What if my friend has me confused with someone else? Now that person will go on struggling with her kosher dills and grape jelly, and it will be my fault. What a thing to have on my conscience!

But what could I do? By that time we were a good ten minutes into the conversation; a conversation in which I had enthusiastically thanked my friend for her thoughtfulness and agreed that yes, I could really use the gripper. It seemed too late to say, “I’m sorry. Now that I think about it, I think you must have me confused with someone else who’s lost their grip.”

But I didn’t have the courage. Instead I offered to pay her for the gripper which I hadn’t planned on buying. I was concerned that if I paid her, she’d start bringing me all sorts of things I need, but don’t know it yet. I offered anyway, and she graciously declined. It was a gift; a gift that was probably meant for someone else. I took it and use it often, always wondering, am I forgetful or am I a liar? Don’t answer that.

Meanwhile, my friend hasn’t brought me any other useful kitchen items—or anything else for that matter. Maybe she’s onto me. Or maybe I haven’t mentioned I need anything else, in which case, I could really use some wooden spoons.

I’m sure this story serves to illustrate a point, though I’m not sure what it is. Maybe just that the longer you wait, the harder it gets to speak up. Whether it’s telling your neighbor that it was you who reported their barking dog to animal control. Or telling your parents that you’re the one who burned down the garage when you were 14. These are just examples, mind you. We had a carport when I was growing up, and it’s still standing.

 I swear my delay was only an attempt to buy thinking time. But I waited too long, and I certainly didn’t want to embarrass us both after we’d carried on like that. Plus, I was afraid she’d want the gripper back.

Dorothy Rosby is a blogger and humor columnist whose column appears regularly in publications throughout the West and Midwest. She’s the author of four books of humorous essays all available locally at Mitzi’s Books and on Amazon.

By Dorothy Rosby

Sometimes I sit at my computer thinking about all the things I could be doing if I weren’t working. Then when I stop working, I think about all the things I didn’t finish when I was working because I was thinking about not working.

I’ve been known to lie awake at night, fretting about the next day. Then I drag through the next day—wishing I were asleep. I iron while I watch movies. I talk on the phone while I clean my house. And I read while I ride my exercise bike. (How good the workout is depends on how good the reading material is.) 

As anyone who knows me will tell you, my mind is rarely where my body is. And that’s a nice way to put what they say about me. But judging by the behavior of those around me, I’m not the only one. I know a woman who puts on her make-up while she drives, and I know a man who reads news during family dinners. (I won’t mention any names, but it’s someone I’m married to.)

I once saw a woman knitting at a baseball game. And a few days ago I saw a teenage boy driving with what looked like a textbook open on the dashboard. Maybe he was studying for his driver’s test.

When I’m talking to others, I can practically see the cartoon balloons rising over their heads. “Cheese. I need to pick up cheese,” or, “I wonder if the fish are biting.” I understand; I’ve done it myself and I don’t even fish.

Only young children seem to be right where they are, with the exception of on Christmas Eve and the night before their birthday. Make that the month before their birthday. Then they get to high school and start dreaming of going to college. Then they get to college and start dreaming of a career. Then they start a career and start dreaming about retiring. Then they retire and talk about the good old days.

As adults we simply don’t always bring our minds along when we take our bodies out. That makes us either talented or negligent. Separating mind and body is a wonderful talent to have when you’re having a tooth pulled or a tattoo removed.  But it was negligent when I left a store without paying for the snacks I had every intention of purchasing. Honest! It’s just that my mind was already at the office while my body was still walking out of the store. It didn’t help that it was walking pretty darn fast.

And it was negligent and even downright dangerous when a man talking on his cellphone while he drove nearly ran over me. His mind was on his conversation, but his body was in his car driving toward me. Incidentally while that was happening, my mind was right there with my body for a change.

The other problem with letting mind and body go their separate ways is you miss so much. You miss the taste of your meal if, while you’re eating it, you’re already thinking about whether or not you’re going to have seconds—and dessert. If you’re reading your email while you’re driving, you’ll miss the view, not to mention the patrolman.

We should ask ourselves, were we really there at all, wherever “there” was, if our head wasn’t? If I was thinking of my vacation while I was working, was I really working at all and should I even be paid?

I think…yes, since I was thinking of working while I was on my vacation. In which case, maybe I really wasn’t on vacation at all and should probably take another one.

Dorothy Rosby is a syndicated humor columnist and the author of four books of humorous essays all available locally at Mitzi’s Books and on Amazon. 

By Dorothy Rosby

I read somewhere that the average person thinks 60,000 thoughts every day. That sounds like a lot. But that’s if you’re average, and really, how many of us can say that?

The author went on to say that no matter how many thoughts you have, 95% of them are the same ones you had yesterday. Ouch! That makes me feel so shallow. And it did yesterday too.

I don’t know if I even have 60,000 thoughts per day, but if I ever start counting, I’m pretty sure I’ll have fewer of them. “Where did I put my car keys?” That’s one. “What about my sunglasses?” That’s two. “Why can’t I learn to put my sunglasses and my keys in the same place every day?” That’s three—all of which I had today, yesterday and pretty much every day last week. You can see how counting would discourage deep thought.

Like many other startling facts I’ve seen on the internet, these two may not even be…uh…factual. An email I received recently claimed red cars are stopped for speeding more often than any other color of car. That’s probably true when you compare red cars that are speeding with other cars that are not. Or there’s that “fact” that periodically makes the rounds on the internet about how more people are killed by donkeys than by airline accidents. There’s probably no way to prove that since, as far as I know, no one keeps records of donkey-induced fatalities. If it were a problem, I would think someone would be keeping stats.

I apologize for getting off track, but it did give you something to think about, didn’t it? And that’s the point. I don’t know about you, but if I were honest with myself, which I seldom am, I would have to admit that many of the thoughts I’m having today are the same ones I had yesterday and probably the day before that. Besides “Where are my keys and my sunglasses,” there’s “What am I going to make for dinner,” “Why can’t my stomach be flat” and “There must be something in the water in Washington, D.C.”

I know my life would be more interesting if I could think some new thoughts. I would probably be more interesting too. You’re already very interesting, but I’m going to make some suggestions anyway.

Ways to Have New Thoughts

Try new things. I’ve never had a burning desire to try sky diving or bungee jumping. I worry that certain new experiences might kill me, and dead people are not known for their abundance of new thoughts. But I have tried rappelling, the cha-cha and quail eggs.

Read. I read whatever is in front of me, including cereal boxes, which recently inspired several new thoughts: “Why wasn’t my box of Mini-Wheats the one with the $100 gift card inside?” And “What is tripotassium phosphate and why are they putting it in my Cheerios?” But when it comes to mysteries, I prefer mine in a book. Murder mystery novels prompt many thoughts: “Whodunit? What was the motive? And what was that noise I just heard in my basement?”

Travel. Traveling is also a great way to trigger new thoughts. Some possibilities include: “Why do hot dogs cost $20 when you’re away from home,” “Did I remember to lock the front door when I left” and “Thank goodness I’m flying and not riding a donkey.”

Dorothy Rosby is a syndicated humor columnist and the author of four books of humorous essays all available locally at Mitzi’s Books and on Amazon. 

By Dorothy Rosby

I often wonder how my life would be different if there were no FreeCell. For those of you who don’t procrastinate—or who use real cards when you do it—FreeCell is a kind of solitaire and one of many ways one can put off doing actual work on one’s home computer. (Normally you don’t find FreeCell on business computers because of the effect it would have on gross domestic product.)

While it may be one of the most effective methods of delaying work, FreeCell is certainly not the only one. And on January 1, I resolved to cut back on procrastination. All these weeks later, I’m finally getting around to writing about it.

First, let’s review some of the time-honored maxims about avoiding procrastination.

1. Eat the elephant in small bites. The elephant is a low-carb, high-protein metaphor for a project so large that one does not know where to begin. When one does not know where to begin, one does not begin. One plays FreeCell. Or reads her spam. Or eats Spam. In small bites.

Meanwhile, the elephant grows larger. No one can swallow an entire elephant in one gulp, nor would they want to. That’s why one should divide the project into small tasks or, to put it another way, chop the elephant into bite-size morsels. While this should make your project more manageable, it won’t necessarily make the elephant taste any better.

2. Eat your frog the first thing in the morning. The frog symbolizes those tasks so unpleasant that you simply cannot bring yourself to do them. Unfortunately, frogs left uneaten have a way of metamorphosing into large, distasteful elephants while you’re watching Seinfeld reruns. That is why you must summon your courage first thing in the morning and force yourself to swallow the darn thing and get it over with. This will leave you energized and motivated to do other less abhorrent projects—or play a rousing game of FreeCell.

3. Make hay while the sun is shining. In other words, work during your peak times. Some people are morning people; some people are night people. I’m a person for a short period right around suppertime. I try to avoid spending my precious peak time daydreaming or twiddling my thumbs; I have my other 15 hours of non-peak, non-sleep time to do that.

While I recommend you add elephants, frogs and hay to your diet, I do not believe you should give up procrastination entirely. Instead I suggest you practice what I call the Art of Selective Procrastination. Consider the following:

If you delay your Christmas shopping until December 23, you won’t forget where you put the gifts. Or that you bought them.

If you wait to buy your Halloween candy until the afternoon of October 31, you won’t have to buy more to replace all that you ate.

If you regularly delay grocery shopping, you’ll get to eat out more often.

If you wait long enough, your family will eventually take all of the clean, unfolded laundry out of the laundry basket, making folding it and putting it away completely unnecessary.

If you wait long enough to shovel snow, eventually it will melt. If you put off raking your leaves, the autumn winds will blow them into your neighbor’s yard. And if you put off making hay and eating your frogs and elephants, you’ll have more time to play FreeCell.

Dorothy Rosby is a syndicated humor columnist and the author of four books of humorous essays all available locally at Mitzi’s Books and on Amazon. 

By Dorothy Rosby

I’m trying a new approach to New Year’s resolutions this year. Instead of worrying about everything I’d like to change about myself, I’m going focus on what I’d like other people to change. That’s right. This year I’m making New Year’s resolutions for everyone else. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It’s a lot more fun than the old way and I’m sure it will be every bit as effective.

For starters, I hereby resolve that hackers and identity thieves will use their considerable talents to contribute to society by pursuing legal employment. And if they don’t, I resolve that law enforcement officials will track them down and put them behind bars where they’ll be forced to listen to robo calls all day, every day for the rest of their sorry lives.

And I resolve that spammers will stop spamming, scammers will stop scamming and litterers will stop littering. And I resolve that those who spit their gum on the sidewalk will be the ones who step on it later.

I resolve that TV viewers will begin questioning everything that comes out of the mouths of well-paid political pundits and if they have any questions about who and what they should really believe, they can call me and I’ll tell them.

Likewise I resolve that social media users will stop believing everything they read on Facebook and Twitter and that they’ll refrain from sharing mean-spirited political memes and political rants—unless I agree with them.

And speaking of politics, I resolve that all eligible voters will vote in the next election. Or at least all eligible voters who see things my way will vote in the next election.

I hereby resolve that shoppers will no longer pick up items in one aisle, change their minds and leave said items in another aisle. I sympathize. I change my mind occasionally too. In fact the last time I went shopping I picked up a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips in aisle five and was overcome with guilt by the time I reached the produce department. But I got over it.

I resolve that as of January 1, other customers will cease unloading more items than are allowed in the express line and that they’ll refrain from pointing it out if I do it.

And I resolve that shoppers will return their carts to the proper spot after they finish unloading their groceries instead of leaving them in the middle of the parking lot where I can back into them.

I resolve that other drivers will stop parking so close to the line in the parking lot that they can’t help dinging my door when they get out of their car. And I resolve they’ll find another parking place if it’s me who parked too close to the line.

And finally I resolve that no one will ever again text and drive, drink and drive or get in my way when I drive. And that nobody will call me or come knocking at my door while I’m eating or sleeping, which I realize is a wide target. And that anyone who speaks on their cellphone within earshot of me will have the courtesy to make it an interesting conversation.

So there you have it:  my new approach to making New Year’s resolutions. It’s brilliant, isn’t it? I think it will catch on. Soon everyone will be making resolutions for other people, and not just for strangers but also for close friends and family. There are so many possibilities.

“I resolve that you’ll stop interrupting.”

“Yeah? Well, I resolve that you’ll stop talking when I’m trying to interrupt.”

“I resolve that you’ll quit telling me how to drive.”

“And I resolve that you’ll learn to drive better.”

“I resolve that you’ll go back to making New Year’s resolutions the old way.” “And I resolve that you’ll learn to appreciate constructive criticism.”

Excerpt from ’Tis the Season to Feel Inadequate, Holidays, Special Occasions and Other Times Our Celebrations Get Out of Hand by Dorothy Rosby, now available at Mitzi’s Books in Rapid City and on Amazon in both print and e-book versions.

By Dorothy Rosby

You can’t tell by looking at my wrapping, but I was once a professional gift wrapper. Sort of. When I was a teenager, I worked at a hardware store in my hometown, Buffalo, South Dakota. Buffalo had a population of around 350 people and was many miles from a department store. Also I was in high school before the days of online shopping—about a hundred years before the days of online shopping. So the hardware store carried a variety of housewares, toys and other items that were often purchased for gift giving. We also had a fabulous selection of wrapping paper and bows but only a few people on staff who could really do them justice. I wasn’t one of them.

Practice should make perfect and I wrapped many gifts, but they always had those big bulges on the sides of the package where the paper comes together—like I accidentally wrapped a hammer in there, which I may have once or twice. Even today I turn a gift on its side and put a big bow on the lump to cover it up.

But I can finally feel good about my wrapping, and not because it’s gotten better. Recently I’ve read about several studies that suggest attractive gift wrapping can backfire by leading the receiver to anticipate an equally attractive gift. That means that when they open your beautifully wrapped package and find an egg slicer or a hair removal device, they’re bound to be disappointed. They might be disappointed anyway.

But researchers say fancy wrapping can even dim the enthusiasm of someone receiving a nice gift. Meanwhile, mediocre wrapping can enhance the joy of receiving any gift because the wrapping hasn’t built up expectations, though I don’t think anything could enhance the joy of receiving a hair remover or an egg slicer.

It makes sense really. Imagine that a month before Christmas you receive a gift that’s been professionally wrapped in gold metallic wrapping paper with a red satin ribbon and a giant bow. You see it under your tree every day and you can’t help imagining all the wonderful things that could be in that package. Crystal? A new camera? A hundred-dollar bill and a big rock to add weight to the package? You can’t wait for Christmas!

Finally, it’s time. You tear into the package prepared to be wowed, and you find…a hot dog cooker or a snow cone maker. Naturally you’re disappointed. Who wants snow cones in December?

If these studies had been done back when I was a professional gift wrapper it would have saved me a lot of embarrassment. I could have handed my customers their lumpy packages and said, “If your wife is disappointed that you bought mixing bowls for her birthday, don’t blame me.”

According to one researcher there’s an exception to the gift wrap rule, and that’s when the value of your gift isn’t obvious. For example, let’s say you’re giving your teenager the $1.3 million Diamond Crypto Smartphone. If she thinks the diamonds are cubic zirconia she might carelessly misplace her phone under her bed or accidentally throw it in with the dirty laundry. In order to signal that the gift actually does have great value you should definitely have it professionally wrapped. You should also have your head examined.

For gifts valued at less than $1.3 million, consider more humble wrapping:

• Wrap your gift in newspaper, being careful to avoid the obituary page.
• Wrap it in brown paper and tie it up with string while humming a verse of “My Favorite Things.”
• Make the wrapping part of the gift. For example, use a tea towel to wrap a package of kitchen sponges.
• Go wrapless—the gift, not you.
• My personal favorite though, is the gift bag. Gift bags are attractive but not so much that they raise my expectations. They don’t require any special wrapping skill when I go to reuse them later. And they make it easy for me to peek.

Excerpt from ’Tis the Season to Feel Inadequate, Holidays, Special Occasions and Other Times Our Celebrations Get Out of Hand now available at Mitzi’s Books in downtown Rapid City and on Amazon.