Cagle World

According to my extensive research (approximately five minutes on Google when I should have been folding underwear), the Chinese zodiac system assigns an animal symbol to each year. It is believed that people born in a given year have the personality of that year’s animal. For example, based on the placemats at my favorite Chinese buffet, I was born in the Year of the Dog, which means I am loyal, honest and difficult to housebreak.

Although it has absolutely nothing to do with the Chinese zodiac system, I am hereby declaring this year to be the Year of the Possum! The common possum (also known as the “opossum,” “roadkill” or “hissing rat-kitty”) is actually a marsupial, meaning that when possums feel threatened, they hiss with a strong Australian accent. They vaguely resemble a small house cat who spent a drunken night on the town with a set of malfunctioning Norelco clippers.

“So why this sudden interest in possums?” you probably aren’t asking. Within the past two months, I’ve had two encounters with these repulsive, yet somehow endearing creatures.

The first occurred one evening last month while my wife and I were taking our evening geriatric power stroll. As we walked past our house, we noticed an unidentified hairy object on our front lawn. At first, we thought it might be a bunny, a kitten or even one of our family doglets who had escaped to the front yard to kill the rest of our grass.

Upon closer inspection (I made my wife go look), we discovered that it was a young possum ­­– probably a teenager based on all of the sighing and eye rolling. Because East Texas was experiencing record heat and a drought at the time (and because I feel a kindred connection to all creatures with bad hair) I decided to prepare the possum a small dish of water and a handful of kibble dog food.

When I returned with the food and water, the possum gave me a half-hearted hiss and revealed in its clutches the carcass of a half-eaten rodent. In other words, I was like one of those restaurant servers who try to force a dessert on me after I’ve already stuffed myself. (I usually agree to the dessert.)

My next possum encounter happened a month later when my wife interrupted my slumber to inform me that there was a possum in our swimming pool/liquid cash vortex. When I asked her if she got it out, she said that she thought I should do it since she basically does everything else except breathe for me. (I’m still trying to figure out how to turn that over to her, too.)

When I went outside, the possum was sitting just inside one of the skimmer intake thingies–judging me because he didn’t like my bathrobe. There was no time to reconsider my leisurewear, though, as I sprang into action, using the pole end of my dip net to gouge the possum out of the skimmer and then skillfully twirling the pole to scoop him in the net and deposit him over the back fence – while cold possum water streamed down my arm and into my robe.

Although these experiences were not altogether pleasant, it’s nice to know that our neighborhood has a healthy ecosystem that supports the local wildlife – even if it has no taste in bathrobes.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

If you read my last two columns, you know that I’m now milking this one-trick pony for all it’s worth – including some mixed metaphors. In my previous columns, I discussed things I haven’t done, and things I’ve done and wish I hadn’t – respectively (actually, there was quite of bit of disrespect involved, especially regarding Hooters.)

This time, I’ll share a few things I’m actually glad I did­ – for now.

1. First, this past year, I hired someone to mow my yard. Yes, I could save some cash if I did it myself, and yes, my dad (who is in his eighties) still mows his own yard – and probably doubts my parentage. But considering that I often pull muscles and pinch nerves if I breathe too heavily, I’ll probably save money on medical insurance copays. Besides, I now have more time to annoy my wife, three semi-grown daughters and pets.

2. Speaking of my daughters, I’m currently paying for a series of driving lessons for my youngest and quietest daughter. I still ride along while she practices, which almost always ends with apologies (from me) and a full wipe down of the front passenger window to remove claw marks and tear stains. But based on my eldest and middle daughters’ experiences with parent-taught driving lessons (and my inability to find a substitute teacher), I thought sending my youngest to a driving academy might be better for her self-esteem, my cardiovascular health and our liability insurance premiums.

3. If you’re still reading, you may want to stop now because next on the list is my switch several years ago to boxer briefs. I was raised in tighty-whities, which, on me, basically look like enormous diapers (I know I’ll be wearing those soon enough). Not only do I find boxer briefs more bracing and comfortable, they vaguely resemble shorts, which is useful when I forget to put on pants before going out to check the mail.

4. Moving on from men’s underwear to marital health (I’m convinced the two are closely related), for the past year, or so, I’ve been asking my wife out for a weekly date – and occasionally, she says, “Yes.” When our three daughters were younger, my wife and I focused all of our time and energy on them, shaping and molding them into strong, intelligent young women who know exactly how to manipulate us out of our cash. Now that they are more independent (except for the cash part), I’m trying to dedicate more attention to my wife’s needs. So, when we go out on our dates, I let her know I value her and her opinions by allowing her to choose where we eat – as long as it’s my favorite Mexican food restaurant.

I could go on and on (not really – I’m pretty much out of ideas), but I’ll finish by saying that although I’ve done plenty of things I regret, and I haven’t done a lot things that others have, marrying an outstanding lady and having three wonderful girls have made up for life’s many shortcomings. Oh, and the boxer briefs help, too, especially when I go out to check the mail.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

In my last column, I admitted to some things I’ve never done in my 50-something-year-old-dude-type-person life. (I still haven’t been to Hooters.)

So, of course, that discussion brought to mind a few things I’ve actually accomplished – or committed – and deeply regret.

1. I’m not sure why I thought of this first (and probably don’t want to know), but I once tried one of those back shavers with the extra-long handle in order to try and look more like Ryan Gosling and less like a pregnant labradoodle with mange. Instead, when I came out of the shower after my first “shave,” my back and shoulders looked like they had tangled with a rabid potato peeler. And I still had as much back hair as ever–if not more! I think the shaver just brought the rest of it out of the closet.

2. And speaking of shaving, several years ago, when our three semi-grown daughters were younger and less traumatized when I wandered around the house shirtless, they asked what I would look like if I shaved my chest – so I showed them. (We’re hoping the nightmares will eventually go away on their own.)

3. Turning from manscaping to spiritual matters, one of my most recent regrets was clicking on a text from my eldest and most expensive daughter during church. Because she rarely texts unless she needs something expensive, wants something expensive or has damaged something expensive, I couldn’t resist. (I also continue to labor under the delusion that setting my cell phone to “silent” has any effect on the volume.) When I clicked on her text, it played an earsplitting clip from a SpongeBob SquarePants cartoon – right in the middle of “The Beatitudes.” I naturally blamed it on my wife.

4. I actually have a long history of embarrassment in Baptist sanctuaries. When I was in the church youth group during junior high, I decided to join the puppet ministry. (Yes, church puppets were a thing then, and I may or may not have been wearing parachute pants at the time.)

During my first (and last) performance, I was experiencing tremendous pain in my adolescent noodle arm, which caused a serious hand-puppet-control problem. During the solemn portion of the show, my flabtastic arm started listing badly behind the curtain. Peals of laughter ensued because instead of sharing the Gospel, my puppet appeared to be making out vigorously with his stuffed brethren on stage. No one got saved that night, but at least there was joy in the house of the Lord.

5. This last regret has two parts that almost always go together – mowing the lawn in tennis shoes and spousal support during minor surgery. In the early years of my marriage, I learned that push mowing on a sharp incline while wearing Nikes will likely result in a visit to the ER and a humiliating story for your friends to bring up at parties.

To make a short story shorter, while the ER doctor was stitching up my big toe, my wife, who had joined me in the room for moral support (and probably to laugh at me), proceeded to pass out (probably from laughing). When the nurse came in, the doctor was performing a graceful second arabesque with my mangled toe in one hand and my comatose wife in the other. If only we had TikTok back then.

I could go on and on, but I need to pray, find my steel toe boots, and condition my back hair.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

A few days ago, my wife and I were taking our evening almost-senior-citizen power stroll, and the subject of Hooters came up. Yes, Hooters. And I’ll tell you why (even if you wish I wouldn’t).

We were having a good laugh because someone on Facebook had suggested that our local and recently-shuttered Bed Bath & Beyond store might become a giant Hooters. (Pretend you didn’t read those last two words together.)

It was at that point I realized and proudly confessed to my wife that I’ve never visited a Hooters restaurant. My self-righteous gloating was soon silenced, though, when my wife announced, “Well, I have. It was a long time ago, and I was on a business trip. It obviously wasn’t my choice.”

I was stunned, not so much that my wife had been served owl tacos, or whatever it is they have at Hooters, but that she had done this stereotypical “man” thing that I’d never done – and really have no desire to do. (I mean, who eats owls?)

That got me thinking about other things I haven’t done in my 50-something-year-old life, so I made a list (even if you wish I wouldn’t).

1. I’ve never been duck hunting. My father-in-law did take me deer hunting once–back when I was dating his daughter and he was still trying to decide whether or not to let me live. Duck hunting actually sounds kind of fun, except for the getting wet, getting cold and getting up before noon on a Saturday parts.

2. I’ve never been to an escape room. However, I experience something like it every night when I try to find my way to the bathroom half asleep in the dark.

3. I’ve never been to a NASCAR, Formula 1, or drag race. I have given all three of my daughters driving lessons, so I’m good.

4. I’ve never watched “Game of Thrones.” (See number 2.)

5. I’ve never been fly fishing–unless you count those times I’ve been sitting in a meeting at work and discovered, to my horror, that my pants were unzipped.

6. I’ve never been axe throwing. I did abuse some pine trees with those ninja throwing stars as a kid, though. (I grew up during the 1970s and 80s when parents still allowed kids to eat highly processed meats and play with sharp objects unattended.)

7. I’ve never played “Call of Duty.” (See number 2.)

8. I’ve never been to a Taylor Swift concert, and I’d really like to go. I’m actually on a waiting list for tickets to an upcoming concert in New Orleans, but I think it’s more of a “you sad, sad man who will never get tickets and shouldn’t want them” list.

9. I’ve never played pickleball. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but if it involves food eaten with pickles (or food of any kind), I’m in.

10. And speaking of eating, I’ve never had cauliflower-crust pizza. I’ve tried to eat raw cauliflower, which reminds me of eating a candle, and I eat my own weight in pizza about once a week. (See number 2.) But I really believe in keeping my food groups separate, so I think I’ll pass.

So, there you have it. Now that I’ve gotten all of this off my chest, I know I’ll sleep better – if I can find my way back from the bathroom.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Recently, my wife and I accomplished a task almost as daunting as giving our cat a pill or teaching our youngest daughter to drive without committing widespread curb trauma. In two days, we managed to move our two older daughters (and several cargo containers’ worth of semi-grown daughter stuff) into new apartments in two different college towns over 100 miles from each other.

Apparently, my daughters are acutely allergic to remaining in a particular college residence for more than one academic year. Forcing them to do so would undoubtedly trigger symptoms like heavy sighing, involuntary eye-rolling and refusing to use cute emojis when responding to parental text messages.

In other words, this wasn’t my first rodeo when it comes to moving my daughters to their respective college dwellings. And I think I’d rather be featured in an actual rodeo than do this again – although my back would probably feel about the same afterward.

Not only did this move mark yet another milestone in my journey away from being a dad of little girls who still held my hand while reaching for my wallet, but it also pushed me further in the inevitable direction of having my suppers at 4:30 p.m. and trying desperately to preserve the remains of my vertebrae. Naturally, I started the ordeal with a chicken biscuit from Chick-fil-A (to get right with God).

My middle daughter was first on our tour of luxury student housing complexes across East and Central Texas. Although she hasn’t stockpiled nearly as much garage sale fodder as my eldest and most expensive daughter, she more than makes up for it with her mania for unnecessary interior décor. We spent at least as much time at Walmart and Hobby Lobby purchasing various knickknacks, whatnots, dust collectors and other objet d’art as we did in the actual moving process. And if you’ve ever been in a Walmart around the time that school starts, you know that some cage fighting and advanced first aid skills come in handy.

Once we had our middle daughter settled and fully festooned, we traveled southward to move our eldest daughter into her apartment, which mainly involved transporting enormous spine-shattering cardboard boxes that once held patio furniture and were then crammed with enough designer and thrifted clothing (some of it never worn) to outfit Taylor Swift’s entire fan base. Our daughter then had to make agonizing decisions regarding which clothes to keep and which she would need to donate back to the thrift shop since her new closet is only about the size of my entire living room.

I am happy to say that, as a gesture of her gratitude, our eldest daughter invited us to take her out to eat at an excellent Tex-Mex restaurant called Gringo’s, where I overdosed on the Queso Loco dip and woke up the next morning with a chili-con-carne hangover.

Although my wife and I were a bit sad as we drove back home to nurse our spinal columns and readjust to domestic life without our two older daughters, we are proud of their independence, and we anticipate the bittersweet day when our youngest daughter will spread her own wings and soar off to college.

Anyone know of a cheap moving company? Asking for a friend.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

These days, getting all three of my semi-grown daughters together for a family activity is like herding cats who have cars, jobs at coffee shops and their own debit cards. So, when our girls were able to pencil us in for a quick weekend trip to San Antonio, my wife and I jumped at the chance . . . or sort of hopped. Our backs hurt.

Our justification for this little getaway was back-to-school shopping, which has come a long and expensive way from a new box of crayons and a Hello Kitty lunch bag.

San Antonio is a good six hours’ drive from our home, including bathroom breaks that always seem to involve purchases of designer bottled water and energy drinks that cost more than the outfit I’m wearing. However, this historic Texas city holds lots of sweet memories from vacations past when the girls were little and just learning where Daddy keeps his wallet.

My wife and I enjoy San Antonio because of the city’s walkable layout. We love to stroll down the less-crowded sections of the legendary and extensive River Walk at night while our daughters either complain about the walking, or stay in the hotel and complain that their legs hurt from the walking.

Our first stop in town was the landmark restaurant and bakery, Mi Tierra. On past visits here, my eldest and most expensive daughter deducted a significant number of Dad points when I made it “awkward” by allowing the ubiquitous wandering mariachis to play a tune at our table. This time, I was determined to do better – and heroically fought off four militant groups of mariachis before my third basket of chips arrived. I’m not sure she noticed my efforts, but I rewarded myself with a praline the size of an obese Chihuahua.

The next morning, we had breakfast at Schilo’s German-Texan restaurant, where they serve their signature root beer on tap and where we were duped by a professional photographer who flattered us by claiming to want our photos for advertising purposes–and then, of course, sold us a few copies. Oh, well, she had a cool German accent, and she photoshopped me to look a little less creepy than usual.

Then we were off to the Shops at La Cantera – an enormous outdoor retail and dining area where, surprisingly, the girls didn’t complain about walking. It was so hot outside that I was sweating everywhere except the insides of my nostrils – so I was forced to wait inside stores with an uncomfortable number of bra and underwear displays in the Dad-loitering areas.

We finished our trip the next day with a traditional visit to The Guenther House for brunch on the grounds of the historic Pioneer Flour Mills. While waiting for a table, we walked across the street to explore the Blue Star Arts Complex, full of galleries, craft vendors and vintage clothing shops – and where the most commonly uttered phrases by my children were “I forgot my purse in the car. Can I pay you back?” and “It smells like weed in here.”

After I enjoyed a light brunch consisting of a face-sized sweet cream waffle, bacon, scrambled eggs, seasoned potatoes, and one of my youngest daughter’s breakfast tacos, it was time to head home. Our credit cards are still smoking, and our backs still hurt, but my wife and I know these times will become more rare as the years pass, so we’ll take them when we can – even if we can only hop at the chance.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

It’s August in Texas, which, at the best of times, is like living inside the molten contents of one of those fried mozzarella sticks that I always steal from my youngest daughter’s order at the Sonic Drive In. This year, though, the summer heat is throwing a good old fashioned hissy fit.

Environmental experts have suggested that the heat dome oozing across the nation is caused by a combination of cattle flatulence, exhaust from my fully-paid-for 2013 SUV with its overexerted check engine light, and something called El Niño, which comes from a Spanish word meaning, “Don’t forget to put on extra deodorant.”

Whatever the cause, I’ve compiled a few tips on what to avoid in order to survive these drawer-drenching temperatures.

First, and speaking of deodorant, don’t skimp on it. However much you’ve been wearing, it’s not enough. Go ahead and slather it on like you’re icing a cake with buttercream frosting. (If only it tasted like that.) You’ll thank me later, and so will your spouse, kids, colleagues and the people sitting near you at church. (They don’t call it a “pew” for nothing.)

Next, when taking your doglets out to soil your lawn (which probably resembles Shredded Wheat cereal by now), slip on your wife’s nearby wedge-style sandals to avoid standing barefoot on any hard, sunlit surface. Without protection, the exposed skin on the bottom of your feet will look like a microwaved cheese pizza by the time the doglets are finished sniffing each other and circling their drop zone at least fifteen times. Besides, the sandals will accentuate your calves.

You should also banish any notions about going outdoors shirtless, heaving your dad-bod into a lounge chair and absorbing some natural vitamin D while enjoying your secret Taylor Swift playlist on Spotify. Otherwise, you’ll risk falling asleep to the sweetly mournful refrains of “All Too Well” and waking up an hour later with your scorched torso looking like you just performed an epic belly-buster off the high dive.

Finally, it’s best not to allow your eldest and most expensive daughter to move out of her current college apartment, located in East-Central Texas where the heat and humidity go to party. Since your daughter is majoring in the Hoarding Arts with a minor in Thrift Store Studies, you’ll have to make several exhausting trips from her apartment to the least expensive, un-air-conditioned storage unit you can find. The facility was clearly built with someone’s scratch-off lottery winnings and is located in the parched outer reaches of civilization – with security provided by the local livestock.

While there, in addition to some hypersonic sweating, you’ll maintain a steady level of paranoia that the door of the storage unit will fall shut with you inside, and you’ll be baked into a slightly hairy cobbler.

I hope these tips help you enjoy (or at least endure) the rest of what seems like a never-ending summer of temperatures that make you long for the good old days of highs in the lower 90’s and an only once-daily change of underwear. Until a cool front arrives, pray for rain, and keep some emergency deodorant on standby.

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Are you tired of financing a tank of gas? Are you afraid your armpits might burst into flames if you leave the air-conditioned confines of your home? Or maybe, like our family, you blew a decade’s worth of vacation savings on a trip to New York City over the Christmas holidays, and you’re still having night terrors about subway rats dancing to Broadway show tunes.

Whatever your reasons, if you are in the midst of a summer staycation this year, the following is a brief guide for enjoying the exotic destination of your home address.

First, a staycation is all about relaxing, and what better place to find the ultimate form of relaxation than in your bedroom – sleeping – a lot? Let’s face it. We often return from traditional vacations totally drained–and not just in the wallet area. On a staycation, you can avoid that kind of financial and physical exhaustion by sleeping as late as humanly possible. In fact, if you still have teens or partially-grown persons at home (who are famous for their general slothfultude), you can make it a family competition. First one out of bed cooks breakfast – or afternoon brunch!

And speaking of brunch, it’s important to get a sense of your destination’s culture by sampling the local cuisine (whatever’s in the fridge and/or pantry that hasn’t reached its expiration date). Here in the South, where we often throw cardiac health to the wind, biscuits with gravy is considered a delicacy. Since the object here is to enjoy yourself, why not go a little crazy and have both the canned and frozen variety of biscuits? And if you’re feeling really extravagant (and carb-deficient), you can whip up some chocolate gravy and force one of your children to stir it for thirty minutes while it cooks. To add a touch of elegance to the meal, break out the fine China – or Chinet (or anything not made by Dixie).

Once the first meal of the day is done at around 2:00 PM, it’s time for some adventure as you enjoy the indigenous wildlife – namely your pets. Experience the excitement of examining tracks (sometimes in the form of droppings), listening to their calls (as they whimper to go outside to potty), or cautiously approaching the Siamese, Maltese or indeterminate terrier mixed breed with a shedding brush and flea drops in hand. The idea is to irritate your pets enough so that they are relieved when your family returns to work and school.

Finally, it’s time to end the day with some bonding in the form of “family game night” held in the luxurious accommodations of your living room. Our gang enjoys the “Let’s order a pizza, leave each other alone and stare at our phones until bedtime” game. The beauty of this game is that the whole family can participate, everyone wins and if someone feels the need to communicate, a simple text will do.

As this travel guide demonstrates, you don’t have to spend lots of money, deal with the hassles of the airlines or undergo the pressures of actually trying to have fun when you settle for a well-air-conditioned summer staycation. All it takes is a semi-comfortable mattress, a can of biscuits, a pet–or two–or three and some good old fashioned unmanaged screen time.

Bon voyage!

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Recently, I took a break from my grueling summer staycation for a business trip to exotic Amarillo, Texas. (Try to contain your jealousy.)

I had never visited Amarillo – other than passing through in the middle of the night on my way to Colorado ski resorts during my Clearasil-laden teen years – so I was fairly excited by the prospect, mainly of what I might find to eat there.

Before I went, I did a little research on the city and its history, and I discovered the name comes from a Spanish word meaning “No, it has nothing to do with armadillos.” I was also excited to learn that Amarillo was historically a cattle-marketing center, which meant that I would probably not go hungry.

And speaking of hungry, our flight landed at around 10:30 p.m., and other than a fun-size bag of subatomic airline pretzels, I hadn’t eaten any supper. It didn’t help that our Uber driver’s floorboard doubled as a fast-food packaging landfill, so once we reached our downtown hotel, even an armadillo sounded appetizing – if I had some ranch dressing for dipping. When I travel to a new city, I always try to sample some quintessentially local cuisine, so, naturally, I ordered a pizza from Domino’s, with extra ranch dressing.

The next evening, after a full day of business tripping, my colleagues and I attended a minor league baseball game at the impressive Hodgetown ballpark, the home of the Sod Poodles. Before this trip, I wasn’t sure what a sod poodle was, but I was pretty sure it was an armadillo. I was soon corrected by the team’s website, which claims that “sod poodle” is another name for a prairie dog. (I’m still pretty sure it’s an armadillo.)

I love the festive ambience of a live baseball game where I can eat my way through all nine innings–and occasionally notice what’s happening on the gridiron, or diamond, or whatever.

The Right Field Picnic Patio gave us access to an all-you-can-eat buffet of hamburgers, hot dogs, baked beans, potato salad, cookies and soft drinks. By the time the buffet closed, I was absolutely stuffed, so I could only manage a jumbo bag of roasted peanuts and a cranium-sized scoop of butter pecan ice cream to get me through the rest of the game. And to top it off, the Sod Poodles won – I think.

In all seriousness, I found downtown Amarillo delightful. The late June weather was warm and dry with a cooling breeze, which was a welcome change from summer in East Texas, where you inhale a six pack of humidity if you dare go outdoors.

Before heading to the airport on our last day, we grabbed lunch at the excellent Blue Sky Texas. I had a plus-sized chicken sandwich and a large pile of sweet potato fries – for health reasons. It was a delicious end to a great trip.

I hope to return to the Amarillo area soon since I only caught a glimpse this time around. Until then, I’ll have fun memories anytime I order Domino’s pizza and put on my official Sod Poodles ball cap. (I still say it’s an armadillo.)

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Dear Generac standby home generator,

I want to apologize for calling down multiple elaborate curses upon you for being so expensive as you sat loitering beside the house almost completely idle for the three years since I financed you – despite the fact that the electricity in our neighborhood had previously been about as reliable as a toddler doing Algebra.

I must admit that I bought you on the rebound. I was just coming off a string of hurtful betrayals by our power company. We had been on and off for some time.

Often, when our power went out at night, I would catch the electricity partying a couple of blocks away with the street lights shining like we had never even been together, but it always eventually returned and clicked on my air conditioner – as if it were making a promise that both of us knew it wouldn’t keep.

Finally, though, after the power company (once again) stood me up and left me lying in bed, sweating and wondering if it was ever coming back–and then gave me no credible explanation about where it had been or with whom­ – it was the last straw.

I was introduced to you by a friend who had purchased a similar generator model and swore that we would be a perfect match. I felt an instant attraction to your beige complexion, seductively curved edges and removable front panel. But you weren’t flashy – just a solid, steady unit with a good reputation, the type who wouldn’t stray.

And you certainly weren’t cheap. I knew that when I financed you, we were in this for the long haul. Some said you weren’t worth such a commitment. Neighbors laughed, and relatives scoffed. But I was determined to make this relationship work. I would never be left heartbroken from having to throw out my frozen desserts again.

Once you were installed, though, I should have known what would happen next. The power company immediately came crawling back with consistent, reliable electricity that rarely even blinked in the face of thunderstorms, winter blasts or my three daughters using their expensive designer hair dryers all at once. It was as if it was trying to prove something – to win me back by making me feel foolish for thinking I could do better – and it worked.

For three years, I practically forgot you were there. Only the plaintive hum of your test runs on Mondays at 7:00 PM and your demanding monthly payments jolted me back into the resented reality of our arrangement. There were times that I hated you for trapping me in your long-term financing plan. How stupid I had been! You and I were just one big mistake.

And then it happened. A cluster of massive storms ransacked the East Texas power grid with the kind of devastating carnage that my daughters and their friends inflict on our guest bathroom during a sleepover. Power at my house was out for five days amid a massive heat wave, and despite years of neglect and verbal abuse, you remained faithful, keeping me from traumatizing my family by having to remove my shirt to stay cool.

So, once again, my beloved Generac standby home generator, I apologize for doubting you. You were there for me when my sweat glands needed you the most, and you’ve been there all along. Now that all of this is over, I think I’ll treat you to an oil change–if I can afford it.

Yours truly according to the terms of my payment schedule,

Jase Graves

–

Copyright 2023 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].