Funny Side Up: Senior Citizen Scenarios

By S. L. Varnado

Aging is a serious business that combines memory lapses with cholesterol counts and fixed incomes. In Funny Side Up, a former columnist for the Mobile Press Register shares a collection of unabashed, unapologetic short stories that provide an amusing glimpse into the whirlwind life and opinions of a typical senior citizen living in the twenty-first century.

Through exaggerated satire, Varnado offers a variety of tales with a potpourri of characters and events that detail the yearly visit of a cigar-smoking guardian angel whose unrealistic optimism drives him insane; a wifes heroic campaign against the machinations of the banking industry; and an encounter with Rasputin Bloodworthy, car dealer extraordinaire. All this combined with an investigation into the political correctness of Santa Claus, a cholesterholic who has a sudden urge for a candy bar, and three stooges who want nothing more than to cap the BP oil spill makes for an unforgettable look into the bizarre entities that accompany the cockamamie journey into senior citizenship.

Funny Side Up mixes nostalgia with a giant dose of humor as a senior citizen shares a hilarious tales of learning to survive in a modern world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450295123

S. L. Varnado

A professor of English at the University of South Alabama, S. L. Varnado has written comic articles for National Review, the New Oxford Review, the National Catholic Reporter, and Reader’s Digest. He writes a humor column for the Mobile Press Register and contends that humor is the answer to most of the world’s problems. “If the Germans had had a keener sense of humor,” he says, “they would have laughed Hitler off the stage.”

Book preview

A Dummies Guide to Budgeting

In these lean times, with the economy reeling like a drunk man on roller skates, people are turning to budgeting as a practical and painless way to cut expenses.

Several nights ago, I proposed to my wife that we join this budget brigade. We’re spending too much money, I said, sitting down at the dining room table with pen and paper. We’ve got to cut—and cut drastically. I’m not saying it’s your fault. But you must admit that you do most of the shopping, and …

Listen to the man, she said with a dismissive gesture. When we go shopping, who is it that torpedoes my carefully-planned grocery list?

I don’t know what you mean.

Well, for example, when we were shopping in Walmart yesterday I saw you slip a six-pack of Milky Way candy bars into the cart. You thought I wasn’t watching.

She picked up the pen and wrote Eliminate candy bars.

Not so fast, I said, taking the pen from her hand and scratching the words out. You know perfectly well I suffer from low blood sugar. When I have one of my weak spells, I have to eat a candy bar to raise my blood sugar. If you don’t believe me, read any health manual.

Ridiculous! she said. There are other ways to raise your blood sugar besides eating candy bars. You make candy bars sound like the base line of the food pyramid.

Let’s not quibble, I said. What else can we cut out?

How about cutting out rich desserts: ice cream, chocolate cake, mince pie? You eat too many sweets anyway. She began to write the items down.

Wait a minute, I said, taking the pen and scratching through the words. No meal is complete without dessert.

So we’ll switch to Jell-O, she said

Jell-O? I cried. Jell-O isn’t a dessert. It’s a chemical compound. The only people who eat Jell-O are patients in hospitals.

Well, you said we have to cut something, she said. How about eliminating those fancy cuts of meat you like: fillet mignon, T-bone steak, prime rib roast?

Woman, would you take away my protein? Any health manual will tell you a man needs his protein.

But there are less expensive forms of protein.

Where my health is concerned, I said, expense is of no importance.

All right, she said with annoyance. "Budgeting was your idea. Let’s hear you suggest some items we can cut from our budget."

I thought about it for a few seconds. Well, we can cut out Brussels sprouts, parsnips, and rhubarb.

There’s only one problem, she said, with a tinge of irony in her voice.

What’s that?

We never eat Brussels sprouts, parsnips, or rhubarb anyway.

Then we won’t miss them, I replied, jotting them down. I got up from the table and strolled into the kitchen.

What are you doing in the kitchen? she asked.

I’m inspecting the refrigerator, I replied. All this talk about food has made me hungry.

But what about the budget? she asked.

The budget? I muttered, opening the freezer and helping myself to several scoops of butter pecan ice cream. We’ll get back to that later. This is much too serious a matter to approach on an empty stomach.

My Kingdom for a Key!

My house is not a well-organized operation. Pliers, wrenches, and carving knives turn up in the refrigerator, in the shower stall, and occasionally in my bedroom slippers. I find bills and other important papers in the waste basket, the medicine chest, and the microwave oven. Due to this extemporaneous style of housekeeping, my wife and I have trouble with keys. We constantly misplace them and waste lots of time finding them again.

Do you have the key to the front door? I asked recently as we returned from one of our shopping forays.

No, my wife said. Isn’t it on the ring with the car keys?

I tried all the keys on the ring, but none of them worked.

We’ll have to go in through a window, the wife said dismally.

We can’t, I told her. Remember those burglaries in our neighborhood last month? To be on the safe side, I nailed all the windows shut.

That wasn’t too smart, she said. You should have left one window unnailed.

Right, I replied. In case some young burglar was just learning the trade.

We walked gloomily around to the back of the house where a picture window, composed of large panes of glass, looks in on the den. There was a television set in front of the window with a parakeet’s cage above it. If I remove one of the glass panes from the window, do you think you can squeeze through the opening? I asked.

It’s not the sort of thing I do well, she replied. But I’ll try.

Be careful, I warned her. The picture window has a Plexiglas sheet behind it. If you push too hard the whole thing will fall down and bring the parakeet cage and the TV with it.

I don’t like this, the wife said, taking off her shoes. It’s not my kind of thing.

I loosened one of the aluminum strips and removed a glass pane. I tugged too hard, however—the glass shattered in my hands.

Don’t cut yourself, the wife said anxiously. It might get infected.

Thank you, Madame Curie! I murmured under my breath.

Getting the wife through the space left by the glass pane proved to be a harder task than expected. She extended one foot through the empty space, then the other, and finally the lower part of her body. She became stuck at that point, half in and half out of the window, waving her arms wildly.

I’m stuck, she cried with a note of panic in her voice.

Push, I told her. Push. Push.

Stop saying that. If I push any harder the sheet of Plexiglas will fall.

It’s a calculated risk we have to take, I said, pushing on her shoulders.

No, no, she screamed. Stop pushing. Stop … Suddenly, the Plexiglas sheet crashed to the floor, bringing the TV set and the parakeet with it. The parakeet beat its wings against its cage, the TV blared, and the wife slid onto the floor of the den with a bang. You and your calculated risks, she said.

Next day, I had a new pane of glass made for the picture window. Locked yourself out? the glass cutter asked with a wink as he measured a sheet of glass.

Yes, I said. How’d you know?

Happens all the time. Folks forget their keys and have to break a pane of glass to get in their house.

Well, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one this has happened to, I said.

No, he replied. "You ain’t the only one. But it’s mostly old folks like you!"

My Wife’s Measurement System

After a long and rather interesting marriage (fifty years last December), I have learned one very important lesson: a wise husband will not inquire too closely into his wife’s activities. Husbands should be seen but not heard. As an example of this, let me describe my wife’s somewhat unusual system of measurements.

I came home recently and found her bending over the kitchen table, carefully placing one hand after another along its surface.

Mind telling me what you’re doing? I asked.

I’m measuring the table, she replied. I’m going to buy a new tablecloth.

But why are you using your hands? I asked.

To get the dimensions of the table, she replied, showing me a slip of paper on which she had written, Ten hands wide—fifteen hands long.

I’m not sure I understand.

Several years ago, she explained, I wanted to measure something—I forget what—but I couldn’t find the tape measure. So I used my hands instead. The system worked so well that I’ve always used it since then.

I nodded as though I understood, and kept my mouth shut.

Several days later, I found her in the living room, standing next to an armchair and making a mark on her dress with a pencil. Again, I asked what she was doing.

I’m measuring the height of this chair, she said. I’m going to buy a new lamp stand and I need to know its height.

Do you mean the height of the chair or the height of the lamp stand?

The height of the lamp stand.

So how will the height of the chair tell you the height of the lamp stand?

The lamp stand should be half the height of the chair, she explained. I’ve marked the height of the chair on my dress. When I find a lamp stand that’s half the height of the mark on my dress, I’ll know I’ve found the right size.

Interesting system, I said. Last week you were using your hands to measure a table. Now you’re using your body to measure the height of a lamp stand. What other body parts do you use to measure things?

Sometimes I use my feet.

How do you use your feet?

"Well, for instance, when I bought the living