My Joke Collection (#14)
All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them.
—Erma Bombeck (museum)
Erma puts the "age" in "courage". Or rather, her children do. During moments of desperation my own stay-at-home mother would say, "You know, I used to be smart before I had you three kids." Even when I was eight I knew she was right. She used to be younger too. But Erma and my mom broke the cardinal rule of parenting, work, and warfare: it's best that the children/projects/enemy never outnumber the caretakers/time/troops.
The thing about white carpeting is that people who have it insist on matching furniture, walls, and decorations. Twice my poor mother brought us into our neighbor Jane's home. The trick I learned is to keep the arms glued to your sides, monitor your footwork, and don't rely on eyesight because everything's invisible in a solid wall of white. When sunlight hits the place it's like God calling you home—but don't follow the light because you'll knock over a porcelain vase, two chairs, and a Hummel figurine.
What's neat about Erma's joke is where it takes us. We expect a huge life-threatening example of how courage can be tested but the surprise is that it's something mild. On reflection, she's talking about keeping friendly with the neighbors. That's huge. The highest practice we aspire to is improving our little corner of the world. (On the larger scale, imagine how life on Earth will be transformed when governments do it!) I'll do my part to make life easier for my neighbors: I hereby solemnly promise to never ever ever have white carpeting. Ever. I'll go one step further: I guarantee that any white carpeting I come in contact with, after 13 minutes, will be converted to not-white. This is the natural process anyway.
Click here for more info about this joke collection thing.
—Erma Bombeck (museum)
Erma puts the "age" in "courage". Or rather, her children do. During moments of desperation my own stay-at-home mother would say, "You know, I used to be smart before I had you three kids." Even when I was eight I knew she was right. She used to be younger too. But Erma and my mom broke the cardinal rule of parenting, work, and warfare: it's best that the children/projects/enemy never outnumber the caretakers/time/troops.
The thing about white carpeting is that people who have it insist on matching furniture, walls, and decorations. Twice my poor mother brought us into our neighbor Jane's home. The trick I learned is to keep the arms glued to your sides, monitor your footwork, and don't rely on eyesight because everything's invisible in a solid wall of white. When sunlight hits the place it's like God calling you home—but don't follow the light because you'll knock over a porcelain vase, two chairs, and a Hummel figurine.
What's neat about Erma's joke is where it takes us. We expect a huge life-threatening example of how courage can be tested but the surprise is that it's something mild. On reflection, she's talking about keeping friendly with the neighbors. That's huge. The highest practice we aspire to is improving our little corner of the world. (On the larger scale, imagine how life on Earth will be transformed when governments do it!) I'll do my part to make life easier for my neighbors: I hereby solemnly promise to never ever ever have white carpeting. Ever. I'll go one step further: I guarantee that any white carpeting I come in contact with, after 13 minutes, will be converted to not-white. This is the natural process anyway.
Click here for more info about this joke collection thing.
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