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

 

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How to kill a pesky mouse before it kills you

mouse peeking out of a hole

I awoke from a deep sleep in the early hours to loud banging and screaming in my home.  I groggily rushed into the kitchen to find Son’s girlfriend rocking in the foetal position on the bench, giggling.  Husband and Son were bent over pulling stock out of the bottom of our pantry trying to find the mouse that just terrorised them.

The screaming I heard – that was the men when the mouse scurried from the pantry, skipped through their legs squeaking “Catch me if you can!”, turned around, and ran back – with its little erect tail giving them the proverbial “bird”.  Well, that’s how I like to picture it!

The hunt was on.  The battle had begun.

Round 1:  Set mouse trap with cheese

Son bought home a mousetrap. On his knees, bum in the air, with his face close to the trap and his tongue lolling out in concentration, he studiously set the trap with a juicy morsel of cheese; then went to bed.

He yelled with rage in the morning “You’ve got to be kidding me!”  He couldn’t believe that when he checked the mousetrap it was still set, but the cheese was gone; and there was no mouse in sight!

I couldn’t help but smile.  A tiny wittle mousey outsmarted him.

Winner:  Mouse

Round 2:  Set 4 mouse traps with cheese

He bought 4 mousetraps the next day, set them all with cheese then rubbed his hands with glee, a winners twinkle in his eye and an evil “mwah mwah mwah” laugh.  He was determined the mouse would be minced by morning.

Son was outfoxedmoused again.  Little Jerry was fattened up this night with his very own cheese platter before settling in for the night.

I started to respect the intelligence of this tiny field mouse immensely.  And yes, I liked him so much I named him Jerry.

Winner:  Mouse

Round 3:  Peanut Butter

Son:    “Mum, I’ve done my research.  Mice can’t resist peanut butter.”

Me:      “I don’t want you to get him, I like Jerry!”

Son:    “Don’t name him Mum, it will just make it harder for you when I kill him!”

He baited the traps with peanut butter.  Jerry obviously did like peanut butter as he cautiously removed them from the traps, leaving them to be discovered mouse-less the next day.

Winner:  Jerry

Round 4

nooski mouse trapSon bought the big guns out.  The MOTHER of all mouse traps.  THE NOOSKI.

I was disgusted that my Son had resorted to this way of sending poor little Jerry to heaven.  I hoped he had the intelligence of Albert Einstein so he would elude the dreaded Nooski and live another day.

Jerry went to heaven that night, with a full tummy of cheese and peanut butter and hopefully a smile on his face, knowing that he was loved by me.

RIP Jerry.  You gave us so much entertainment that week.  You were one smart mouse.

Ps:  We do have a cat. We found her asleep in the spare room guarding a little field mouse who was also curled up and fast asleep.  She just wanted a friend….

© 2015 CEW

Why do they laugh at my cooking?

Shrek screamingI’m not ashamed to admit that I have the – occasional – cooking mishap.  I should just NOT cook food.  EVER.  End of story.

Son:     Mmmm.  Mum, you should taste Karen’s cup-cakes! Nom Nom Nom
Me:      God didn’t bless all Mum’s with the good cooking gene love. {I sound wise}
Son:     Oh… I know that!
Me:      What do you mean – you know that? {What the?}
Son:     Remember when we were little and you made us gingerbread men?
Me:      Yes.  {I slaved over the bleedin’ oven for hours making those.}
Son:     Well, every time you made them, we spat them over the back fence to the neighbour’s dog.
Me:      WHAT??  I thought you liked them so I kept making them.
Son:     We didn’t.  And we had to keep spitting them over the back fence!

Little shites.

Then there’s the saga of my infamous … Lemon Meringue Pie.

Square pastry in a round pie tinIf I really was wise, I would have given up at the beginning of my attempt when I tried putting square pastry into a round tin.  But clever me found a way!  See?

It went downhill from there though.  I made the yellow-lemony-filling bit but must have done something wrong.  The boys were hysterical after tasting it.  Where oh where have I gone wrong this time? I tasted it myself.  I tried to pretend it tasted nice but my face screwed up and one eye automatically squinted closed on its own like a stink-eye, the hair on the back of my neck quivered and my toes curled backwards. But wait!  I know this taste … but I can’t quite pick where I’ve tasted it before.  I pretend the lemony-filling tastes delicious to protect my pride.  Maybe I can convince my boys to give it a go.  “That’s actually REALLY delicious” I pronounce deceptively.  They laugh louder.

Me:       Who wants to lick the bowl?
Boys:   Bahahaha!

I have an epiphany … I recall where I’ve tasted this sour flavour before!  If you want to know what my lemon meringue pie tasted like, follow these instructions carefully {you can do this while you are reading this post, so stay seated}:
1.  Lift up your right hand
2.  Point your finger in the air
3.  Turn your hand so your finger is now pointing towards your head
4.  Push said finger deep into your ear canal up to the 1st knuckle
5.  Turn finger to the left and right and dig in deep, making sure you snag a warm and claggy globule of ear wax
6.  Wipe ear wax on your taste buds and enjoy!

Yep, that’s what my lemon meringue pie tasted like.

After a short investigation of my recipe and methods, I decided it must be my lemon tree!  I picked some lemons off the tree and went to the garden centre where I bought the damn tree.

I said to the customer service officer, handing her one of my lemons “Excuse me, what do you call this?”  She looked at me as if I was simple. “A lemon.”   “NO, it looks like a lemon, but it tastes like ear wax!”  She called over a few of the “experts”.  They got a knife, cut it in half, and inspected the alleged lemon.  They all said … “It’s a lemon”.

I demanded “It’s NOT a lemon. Taste it!”   To shut me up, the three of them cut a small wedge out and popped it into their mouths.  I wore an “I told you so face” as I watched all of their faces contort.  “What the hell is that?” one of them exclaimed.

“I’ll tell you what it is … it’s Shrek’s bloody ear wax!” I said.

We ripped the tree out of the ground and planted a new dwarf lemon tree the following week.

To read about my disastrous sausage casserole, go to The sausage casserole that was banned for life“.

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

What happens when you wear the wrong undies?

Dogs with surprised expressions on their faces

I should never have left the house without first checking that I had my good undies on.  Mum always said “make sure you’ve got good underwear on as you never know what could happen”.  I’ve heard that many older mothers say this in case we “get hit by a bus”.  As usual, I ignored my Mum.

I excitedly left home for my job interview at a major Bank and didn’t give any thought to my underwear.  I only cared about what I looked like on the outside.  {First impressions, you know!}

My interview went fantastic!  So much so, that I was immediately sent to a clinic to have a medical check.  I’d never had a medical examination for a job before so I had no idea what to expect.  Maybe an eye test, hearing test and blood pressure check?

I entered the doctors room.  After introductions were made the doctor stood up and said in his very thick foreign accent “I’m going outzide.  I vant you to get all yor clothez ov.  But leaf your panties and brazzz on, den get on di bed and pull de sheet up to here”  and he pointed to his chin.  {Translation in my head – strip off down to my knickers and bra, jump on the bed and pull the sheet up to my chin.}  Got it!  As soon as he left I hurried to get my clothes off, as I didn’t want him to walk in when I was bending over to get my socks off and be greeted by a um … horrid… sight.  But as I pulled my slacks off I noticed my undies.  I stared towards my own crotch in horror, mouth agape.

OH. MY. GOSH! They were not nice girly panties I was wearing. Oh No!  I would have stabbed myself in the temple with an ice pick if I had one handy just to get myself out of this predicament.  A few months ago I had bought my boyfriend some cheeky undies for Christmas but they were a bit small for him.  So instead of taking them back to the shop, I just put them in my own drawer.  And wore them on occasions.  Because I didn’t think anyone would ever know!!

But I reeeeally wanted this job.  So I quickly stripped down to my undies and “brazzz” and jumped onto the bed, pulling the crisp white sheet up to my chin. “At least he couldn’t see my undies” I thought.

The doctor walked in and approached the bed.  He pulled down the skin under my eyes and checked the sockets, felt the glands on my neck, felt the glands under my arms, and then attempted to raise the sheet.  I gripped on tightly.  He gave a little tug.  The sheet was lifted and he paused as he noticed my underwear.  He had very dark skin and his eyes widened to enormous white orbs which popped forward as he read the inscription on the front of my undies.

I closed my eyes, blocking out my utter humiliation and embarrassment.  But in my mind I could picture my very un-ladylike underwear.

On the front of my undies, now exposed to this doctor’s view, was a picture of a big brown rock.  Ok, it was really a massive boulder, with two enormous eyes on it.  And the words ….

            “Here lurks the big Whopper!”

I desperately hoped that a description of my underwear didn’t make it into the doctor’s notes or to my perspective employer.  At least I passed the medical exam and got the job!

Note to self (and others):  You should always wear nice underwear when you leave your house …. “just in case”.

© 2015 CEW
Originally posted on my old blog site

Why did Facebook accuse me of this?

Go to Jail Monopoly cardI have been accused of the worst possible act. It’s true! I couldn’t believe the email I received from Facebook recently. I was stunned! Facebook Administration have said I …

“may not promote the sale or use of adult products or services (ex: sexual enhancement products, seduction techniques, adult clubs and shows)”

What the hell are they talking about? Me!! Selling or promoting sexual enhancement products!

I put my Private Investigator hat on, and with monocle on eye delved into the dark world of espionage and spied on my own social media sites, determined to find out where the sinister and evil accusations could have stemmed from.

It led me to my post … {drum roll please} … The sausage casserole that was banned for life!

x-rated looking sausage casseroleI sat in bewilderment, staring at the allegedly grossly offensive image of my failed sausage casserole. I tilted my head to the left, and then to the right, and wondered – because I don’t have experience with sexual enhancement products – if a chipolata sausage can also be used as an adult toy, and I hadn’t realised it. Could I be that naive? Unfortunately I possibly am that naive!

I dissected the accusations charged to me by Facebook:-

“Sexual enhancement products”

Ummm, I don’t think so. How can a 3 inch long chipolata be interpreted as being a sexual enhancement product. Then I have an epiphany. That poor lady from Facebook (the one that sent me the email) must be more experienced than me! I wonder if she slow cooks hers for 10 hours like I did, and has a serve of onions on the side.  Oh well, each to their own I say.

“Seduction techniques”

I suppose I could try it on my husband. But how? I’ve already traumatised him with my chipolata casserole attempt. I never want to see that pained expression on his face ever again! In fact – I’ve been banned for life from ever dishing him up a sausage. Seriously – if I walked towards him in a satin negligee holding a chipolata sausage towards him the neighbours would hear the poor man screaming for miles, and running for his life. Seduction with a sausage – not I.

“Adult clubs and shows”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve never been in an adult club but I’ve seen some in movies. The only thing I can think of is a pole dancer – but with a chipolata? But how can she hold it if her hands are on the pole?  It’s just too confusing.  I know – maybe between her teeth like a rose on a stem! And a show – what – you draw back the curtains and see a live cooking segment. I don’t think that chef will be getting a $20 bill under his apron! Bah … really Facebook!  Are you serious?

When I lifted the lid on my sausage casserole and presented that “show” to the three men in my house, they jumped back in fright with a look of pure horror on their faces, knees clasped tightly together and refused to eat it. My husband did not throw me over his shoulder with other ideas. No sir! I was left to eat the bleedin’ casserole for days. My pride dictated that.

I guess I am at the mercy of Facebook Administration. I wrote to them and tried to tell them it was a sausage – but I don’t hold out much hope of getting a favourable response back.

I have a Facebook page attached to my blog now – well, unless Facebook shuts it down of course! If you want to Follow this blog on Facebook go to Cat in the Cactus and hit the “Like” button.  See you there!

© 2015 CEW

Monopoly image courtest of Stockvault

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

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