Shocked by the call girl who rang me

Lips with bright red lipstickThere’s one thing a woman never wants to hear when she picks up the phone …

“Hello, I’m Jenny and I work for an escort agency. I’m sorry to ring you but I need to speak to you about a call I received from your phone number last week.”

I was speechless. I had no idea how to respond, so I just said really slowly “Okay.”

I withdrew into my bedroom and shut the door so my children wouldn’t hear the call. Then she told me the news.

She received a couple of calls from my phone the previous week asking the prices of certain services. She said she is a mother too, and when she realised it was a “little boy” on the phone, and there was another one in the background giggling, she decided to let me know. Lucky for me, our phone number was displayed on her system.

She finished by saying “I just thought you might like to know.” Bless her little cotton socks – I wanted to know alright! I’ve never met a call girl or escort or prostitute or brothel worker, and I was so very, very grateful that she cared enough to ring me. She sounded absolutely lovely on the phone. I couldn’t thank her enough.

Now it was time to deal with those two rascals of mine.

I called the boys together and sat them down, and told them about the call I’d just received from the nice lady on the phone. They both confessed and said they were just joking and promised they’d never do it again.

However, Son 2 tried to win some brownie points and show how intelligent they were and said:-

“Don’t worry Mum, we didn’t use our phone. We used your work phone!”

WHAT???? They used a Government phone! To ring an escort agency! And now there was a record of it!

I was shame-faced as I reported my boys’ actions to the CEO of the Government Department I was working for at the time. He couldn’t help but bellow with laughter – because he has sons – and knows all too well the antics they are capable of.

Disaster averted.

© 2015 CEW

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The evil prank that stopped my husband’s heart

Terrifying black deadly snakeYou DON’T want to hear from your child … “Mum, if we tell you something, will you promise not to get us into trouble?” Oh Lord, what had my 12 and 14 year olds done when I was out shopping? The boys and my husband were extremely quiet, and there was a tense atmosphere in our home. Something, not good, had definitely gone down.

I thought for a moment, looked at both boys, and slowly said “Okay. I’m sure if you’ve done something wrong Dad would have dealt with it. What have you boys done now?”. {When I came home from shopping I asked Husband what was wrong as he looked like a grizzly bear that had eaten vinegar. He put up his hand and shook his head. I knew he wasn’t able to speak. Ohhhh; it must be REALLY bad and I’d find out eventually. It looked like the time was now.}

Sons sat opposite me at our kitchen bench and told me what they had done to their Dad … this time!

We live opposite a lot of land that has cattle on it, and in the summer we must be careful of snakes coming into our residential estate. In Australia in summer, we can get days as hot as 40 degrees (which is 104 Fahrenheit), and a week of this weather can be very stressful. This extremely hot day, sons went for a ride on their scooters around the block and found a dead snake on the footpath. They explained to me that they used the front wheel of their scooter and “sawed” the snake’s head off so they wouldn’t get hurt with the dead snake’s fangs and venom, put the snake’s body on their scooter, then sneaked it home. Just so you know, Australia has some of the deadliest snakes in the world!

I started to break out in a sweat, because when their colluding little heads get together it usually means one thing only – trouble!

Son explained that when they got home, they put the snakes body around the paint tins in our garage, so that when their dad went outside he would think there was a snake in the garage. They thought it would be funny.

Our garage is a bit like their man-cave. When the garage door is up the view is incredible, looking over the green wedge; and as far as the eye can see, there are no houses to block the beautiful panoramic view of the mountains in the distance. It’s the perfect place to contemplate the day, or even just relax in a peaceful space.

Son continued to tell me the story: “So dad went into the garage and we followed him. He saw the snake and put his arms out so we wouldn’t get close and he yelled out “SNAKE!” We said “Don’t worry Dad, we’ll save you” and we ran past him into the garage.”

Apparently Big brother picked up the snake by the tail and swung it around like it was a lasso then let it go and flung it into the paddock across the road.

When they turned around, laughing their noggins off, their father looked like he was having a seizure! He couldn’t even speak to them as he was stuttering, and grasping his chest. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d just seen. Sons, still laughing, said “It’s alright Dad, it was dead! We cut it’s head off before we bought it home!” They burst out laughing before realising their Dad did not find it one bit funny. All he could think of was his boys put themselves in grave danger and he couldn’t fathom it was another one of their pranks.

They sat in front of me and finished their story. Both of them were shame-faced.

I looked from Son 1 to Son 2, and couldn’t speak. I kept my lips clamped together and the pressure build up caused my face to turn bright red. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and roared with laughter. How could I get them into trouble.

It was sheer brilliance!

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

 

What the hell is that on the floor?

Long brown balancing rock formationMaybe we had altitude dementia? Or maybe not. But at 3.00 am at 36,000 feet on a long flight back to Australia, my sister and I went absolutely stir crazy. Huddled under our little blankets giggling our noggins off, we woke our Dad sitting in front of us, as well as other passengers in our vicinity. We couldn’t help it. Have you ever tried to stifle hysterics? It only makes you laugh harder. That was us.

My sister needed to go to the toilet, and if you’ve ever used an aeroplane toilet and you are female, it’s not fun. If you are a male, I suggest you try this so you know what I’m talking about …

  • Grab a cactus in a pot and put it on the roof of your car on a gravel road, and have your mate ready to accelerate behind the wheel. (Not that a toilet seat is a cactus, but the pain of sitting in someone else’s urine puddle comes mighty close for a woman!)
  • Climb onto the roof of the car.
  • Now pull down your pants – no part of your clothing can touch the floor or it becomes soaked in a complete stranger’s filthy DNA. So you need to balance the clothing between your knees and ankles.
  • Now squat backwards and hover your nether-region just above the cactus, trying not to let your dangly bits touch the prickles.
  • Now … yell out to your mate to hit the accelerator on that bumpy road.
  • Then stay in that position for 30 seconds!

Now you know what it’s like for a woman going to the toilet in an aeroplane. Anyway, back to my story …

So my sister goes to the toilet and the “occupant” forgot to lock the door. She walks in to see a poor Indian lady “hovering” in the above position. She looks at my sister with sheer terror on her face as Sister quickly reverses and shuts the door. She scurries to the next toilet.

Now it’s my sister’s turn to be in the “hovering” position. Whilst suspended in that state she notices a vile stench permeating the cubicle. She can feel bile bubbling in her innards, but manages to hold it in. “What is that smell? It’s not coming from me”, she thinks. She looks around the tiny room and her eyes focus on an object on the floor. She focuses on the “log”. It’s a big brown turd! Just resting there. On its lonesome. She can’t help it and she starts laughing uncontrollably. She pictures this …

A poor soul high above the midnight clouds. Hovering over the same toilet in the same cubicle. And just when their “object” was about to leave their body, turbulence strikes! And the “object” starts swinging like a pendulum. Left. Right. Left. And all of a sudden it’s hanging by a point mid-swing, and then it’s released! It flings off and somersaults over the top of the stainless-steel bowl and lands on the floor. Intact.

My Sister runs back to our seat with her hand over her mouth. By the time she tells me her story, we are both out of control. We have gone mad. We are over-tired!

It was the funniest way to end our 4 weeks abroad.

© CEW 2015

He should be arrested for this!

Man wearing black business sock white shoes and shortsI thought it was just our local priest who wore socks and sandals.  I’d sit in church and notice Father Joe’s feet and think it was a statement in humility, that “Maybe he was trying to dress like Jesus”.  But I think not now.  It think it’s just … men.  I don’t mean to offend the male species but do they lose their dress sense as they lose their hair?

I include my own husband in this category now.  His hair is thinning as his fashion sense is waning.  This picture I’ve posted is my husband and how he wears his socks some weekends.  I kid you not!  I’d look down at his ridiculous pulled-up business socks with shorts and say in a high pitched squeak “Are you serious?”  He’d look down and say “What?”

I posted this photo of his calf-length black socks and weird-white-pointy-walking shoes accessorised with his nice big shorts on Facebook once and asked my friends “Is it just my husband, or do others have no idea either?”  The response was that my female friends felt my agonising paaaain.  And my male friends?  They couldn’t see anything wrong with it!

One humiliating week day my husband went to pick our teenage sons up from high school. He turned up early, got out of his car and leaned back onto the hood with his arms crossed in a relaxed pose.  Slick … except he was clod in his customary black socks pulled up his pins with his long black billowing shorts and white pixie shoes!   Son No. 2 and a friend walked out of class and noticed his Dad … in his “pet” socks.  Son quickly glanced left and right and contemplated a quick getaway. His friend laughed and said “Isn’t that your Dad?”  Son hesitated and almost denied him.    But instead {long slow sigh} “Yep … that’s him”.

So I ask you.  Is it just me or should this look be illegal? What is it with men and socks?

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

The massive spider that scared us to death

Close up of big hairy spiderIt was a pitch-black night when my boyfriend and I spotted the massive hairy spider walking up our windscreen.  It stopped.  Our eyes focused on the big dark silhouette at the same time, yet neither of us spoke.  I kept driving, eyes darting from it to the road.  Boyfriend remained silent.   I didn’t think to put the windscreen wipers on to flick it off.  I didn’t know if it was on the inside or the outside of the car.  So I waited until it started to walk again, then I would be able to tell by its leg movements if it was “in” or “out”.

It started a slow ascent further up the windscreen.  OMG!!!!  It was on the inside of the car!  I heard a high pitched woman’s scream – then realised it was my boyfriend. I was driving and didn’t know what to do – I just knew I had to get out of the car.  I swerved off the road and managed to stop my car before it nosed into a ditch.  I left the engine running and headlights on, threw open the door and ran down the lonely road.  My boyfriend ran past me.  His bravery was … noted.

Hands flapping in anxiety and jogging on the spot I said to him frantically “Go and kill it!”  He clutched my arm “I c c c c can’t” he stammered in terror.  “Did you see the size of that th th thing?”  I’m not into violence, but I felt like slapping him upside of the head with a dead fish.  “What will we do?”  I asked.

We anxiously clutched each other.  In the distance we saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle.  Would anyone stop for two people in the night?  I thought not.  I told him to go hide himself in the ditch and I would pretend I was a lone stranded woman.  Maybe a “brave” white-knight would come to my rescue.  But my brave soul wouldn’t let go of my arm.  So we stood there.  Waiting.  Together.

We were lucky that my car looked abandoned and the two people clutching each other in the rays of the headlights looked terrified.  The approaching car stopped.  Two young men got out and asked if we were ok.  “Spider” I said, pointing.  They burst out laughing, showed no fear and went to inspect the mammoth hairy beastie.  It was a mongrel of a thing, at least the size of a dinner plate!  {Ok, not really, but you know how big a huntsman can get right?  No…well they are also known as “giant crab spiders” so just image a spider the size of a crab!}

I thought they would take the spider out of the car and spare its life.  But instead, one of them took off his shoe and smacked the spider.  Dead.  I watched as a big burst of puss-like substance oozed down the window.  The carcass suspended on the glass for a moment then dropped to the dashboard where it remained.

Oh, “What happened to the boyfriend?” you may ask.  Well, I married him.  And he has since learned to kill spiders.

© 2015 CEW
Reposted from my old blog site

Image courtesy of: stockvault--spider-web138344

 

Shocked by the amazing MIRACLE HEALING!

This is a true story about praying for my son just to “shut him up”. What happened next shocked us both …

Angel praying on kneesWhen my son was 11 years old he hurt his ankle quite badly. The doctor sent him for X-rays fearing it was broken, but it was severely sprained. It was his second day home from school, and my second day home from work looking after him. He and I are not good at sitting still, and even worse when we feel like caged animals. We were like bears with sore heads. It was only a matter of time before one of us ran out of patience with the other.

Due to intense boredom, I cooked us all a steak for dinner. In case you are wondering, I am renowned for not being a good cook.  (See my post The Sausage Casserole that was banned for life! for proof.) I hadn’t cooked steak in over 10 years, but I was older and wiser now; surely it couldn’t be too hard, could it?

It was; the steak was a disaster. And truth be known, even I had sore jaws after sawing through it! But son’s patience was up. It started with “Mum, I have a sore tooth.” Then, “Mum, I HAVE A SORE TOOTH!” I replied “Try using dental floss” and “Go brush your teeth”. He went on, and on, and on; as did I. I was trying to load the dishwasher and his harping was severely grating on my nerves. Finally I exploded “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?”

He raised his voice right back at me and said “WELL … YOU COULD TRY USING YOUR JESUS HANDS!” “Fine. Go down to my bedroom. I’ll be there in a minute.” He literally hopped down the hallway, trying not to let his sore foot touch the floor.  I really should have gotten him crutches.

I chuckled to myself “Jesus hands? Where did he learn that?” In fact, it really tickled my fancy. You see, I am the only Christian in my home. My husband and sons are not on that journey with me. Yet. But they know that I love to go to Church and pray for others, and they have seen me pray for people, including them, when they have needed it. It seemed son needed it now. I certainly was not going to refuse.

I met him in my bedroom and lovingly cupped his face within my hands. We both closed our eyes, and for a few minutes, I prayed out loud. I must admit, my prayer really sounded quite good, even to me. It sounded like real poetry! Anyway, my prayer finished and I asked him “How does your tooth feel?”

Old statue of Mary and baby JesusHe prodded and poked, opened his jaw, closed it again, put his angry eyebrows into action and said “IT’S STILL SORE! That’d be right! Healing doesn’t work!” He was not impressed. Oh well, thought I, I’m not magic, if he hasn’t been healed, it’s not my fault.

He stormed out of my room and stomped up the hallway. I ran to my open bedroom door and looked at him, completely stunned. I yelled at him “STOP!” He stopped and turned to look at me. I had the biggest grin on my face imaginable. He said “What?”

“What’s happened to your ankle?”

He marched on the spot. He looked down at his feet. He walked up and down the hallway a few steps. He jumped up and down. “It’s healed.”

I looked quite cocky. I couldn’t help it. “Oh, healing doesn’t work does it?”

He stuttered … “Well, Well … I didn’t ask Him for that, did I?” And off he stormed again.

I couldn’t stop smiling all day.

The lesson I learned that day:
When God answers our prayers, he gives us what we need, even more than what we want. Sometimes he gives us what we haven’t even asked for.  If we just step out and pray for others, we don’t need to worry about “sounding” like a prayer warrior, or like a poet, or be amazingly articulate.  We are just called to step out. Pray.  He will do the rest.  I need not feel prayer pressure ever again.

©2015 CEW

 

The sausage casserole that was BANNED for life

Cartoon chef holding a casserole

“It’s just a sausage casserole. I swear it!”

Warning:  This post contains a seemingly x-rated image – but it’s really a sausage casserole!


I froze.  My new young husband was choking, red faced and making the noise our cat makes when hacking up a hairball.  But this was no hairball, this was my sausage casserole!  I unfroze and leapt towards him, thwacking him on the back between the shoulder blades with the heel of my hand.  Thwack,  Thwack.  He stilled for a moment.  “Is the casserole nice honey?” I asked hesitantly, trying to smile, which resembled more a grimace.  We all know that God didn’t bless me with the cooking gift.

He raised his fingers and started pulling a long clear looking thing out of his mouth which must have been flapping down the back of his throat.  He kept pulling, and pulling.  It was kinda long.  He held it up in front of me.  Oh, it definitely didn’t look good.  He glared at the long transparent object dangling from his fingers with a look of sheer horror.  He turned to me, the limp “thing” swinging from side to side as he raised it up even higher.  My eyes followed it.  Left.  Right.  Left. Right.  “What.   Is.  This?”  he asked. “Well, I know it doesn’t look like it should be in there…” I stuttered.    “Why is there a … condom … in my dinner?” he asked.

Oh my dear goodness gracious me!  It did sort of look like one of those.  I had a flash-back to the recipe.  Oopsie! I realised I should NOT have skipped the step where is said to partly boil the sausages  which would cause the skins to loosen and they should be peeled off before adding to the casserole dish.

“It’s a sausage skin!” I proudly announced.  If I looked confident maybe he would think it was part of the recipe.  But no.  I was banned from EVER cooking a sausage casserole again.

20 years later

It was time I jumped back on the sausage casserole band wagon.  We had two strapping sons now with big appetites and I was a lot more confident in my cooking, despite my kinship with kitchen disasters.  To get around my life-long ban from cooking sausage casseroles I would be “clever” and cook a – CHIPOLATA CASSEROLE!  {If it was really a sausage, it would be called a sausage, now wouldn’t it?}

The aroma from the slow-cooker which had been on for 8 hours was absolutely mouth-watering.  I knew my men would be impressed with my culinary skills this night.  I had cooked enough to feed our family for two nights.  Clever me!

A work colleague popped into my home for a meeting and we sat at the bench top.  Even he couldn’t resist the tempting sausage-scent and asked if he could peek under the lid.  Like a couple of naughty children we lifted the lid – and I’m not sure which one of us was the most embarrassed!  I shut the lid quickly and felt my face heat up and my glasses fogged.  He burst out laughing and said if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed what he’d just seen.  I swore to him it was just my secret Chipolata Casserole!

Later that evening it was time to dish up my feast.

x-rated looking sausage casseroleMy husband and our boys, aged 20 and 18, were crowding the bench like hungry cave men, bellies grumbling.  I paused with my hand on the lid, hoping it looked better than the last time I peeked.  I ever so slowly lifted the lid.

Three men jumped backwards with pained expressions on their faces.

I lifted the ladle and they backed away even further, all muttering at the same time that they were not hungry any more.  They all refused to eat my Chipolata Casserole!  I don’t know why, it was mighty delicious.  It fed me for days.  They are traumatised for life.
©2015 CEW

Reposted from my old blog site