I DO Know: Fly on the Wall

2026-03-20T08:00:00.315-05:00

Welcome to our monthly Fly on the Wall, a blog post written in snippets. Marcia, Diane, and I invite you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, at our writing desks, and in our worlds. Come on in, buzz around, see what we've been up to. Bet you laugh!

Apparently Hubs had some paperwork coming to the house. I wasn't aware of it, but he let me know the morning it was due to arrive.

Hubs: FedEx will be dropping off an envelope today, they'll need a signature.

Me: Then you better plan to be here to get it.

Hubs: Why, are you going out?
Me: No, it's Wednesday.

Hubs: And?
Me: I'm doing laundry.

Hubs: And?
Me: I don't answer the door when I'm wearing my doing laundry clothes.

Hubs: {{blink, blink}}.

Well, I mean you all have doing laundry clothes too, right? And you wouldn't open the door wearing them either, would you?

Although they're rarely right, Hubs has gotten me into the habit of checking the weather app now and then. I actually have it set to 3 cities: where I live, where PurDude lives, and where my mom lives.

I saw that the forecast for my area was dismal, but PurDude's was even worse. We were texting that morning, as we always do:

Me: It's going to be cold and rainy here. Looks like you're getting some sleep?

PurDude: Because your weather makes me tired?

Me: Sleet. Not sleep, sleet. Sheesh!

I was on a local store's website looking for an electric toothbrush head replacement. Somehow, what came up was . . . teeth?

Teeth? One size fits all? Available at the grocery store? And it seems, from their advertising, that they're designed for minimal speech disruption.

That's a hard pass. I won't be buying dentures at the grocery store. I'll stick to my G-d given choppers, thanks.

What's next? Over the counter IUDs?

We generally don't play the lottery, but when it gets high enough, it's hard to resist. The Powerball had gotten way past high enough, close to the billions. We played and I was fully expecting to win. At least something, right?

Wrong, Hubs and I both got just one number each. Two people won and obviously it wasn't us. I was sorely disappointed. Why couldn't it have been me?

I know, I'll ask Google.

So I typed in "why didn't I win," and as always, Google gives options as to what I might be looking for based on common queries, trends, and my search history. Top option they offered? Why didn't I win the sperm race?

Umm, no. Not what I was going for. Now I'm spending way too much time wondering both how many people ask that for it to be a common query, or what my personal search history says about me.

The answer to either one of those, I really don't want to know.

Hubs needed some oil for the car. It's european oil that you can't find everywhere, but our local Walmart has it, and at a great price. I ordered it on the morning of the 5th, and it was due to be delivered that day by 10:00 pm. I was watching the order through the day and in large letters it said "arriving by 10:00 pm," then in tiny letters under that it said "searching for a driver." Well, that can't be good. Especially since Hubs needs that oil.

At 9:30 pm, they updated the order to "delayed." They sent an email saying they'd do everything they can to get it to us within two days. Not going to work.

The next morning, Friday, the 6th, Hubs decided he'd have to go out and get it himself if it wasn't coming by noon. Every time I checked, there wasn't an update.

Just before noon, I updated Hubs:

Me: Looks like Walmart put us in a time machine.

Hubs: What?
Me: Yes, the order updated.

Hubs: What does that have to do with a time machine?

Me: The update is that it's due to arrive by 1:30 pm, Thursday March 5th.

Hubs: That's yesterday.

Me: Hence the time machine . . .

Italian Party Sub

We were going to watch a Purdue basketball game. Hubs had been in his man cave watching an earlier game, which was going into overtime. I didn't care, I follow teams, not sports.

He came into the den just before the Purdue game was about to start. He looked up and saw I had the TV on and the game going into overtime on the screen.

Hubs: What channel is Purdue on?
Me: This one, that's why I have this channel on.

Hubs: Oh, I thought you put this channel on because you were being nice, knowing I was interested in the overtime game.

Me: No, I'm not that nice.

I thought I was joking but I didn't hear him disagree . . .

I notice Hubs walking around, seemingly randomly:

Me: What are you doing?
Hubs: Looking for my glasses.

Me: When did you have them last?
Hubs: I don't know.

Now, normally I'd laugh at him, tell him he's getting old, but it turns out I don't think it's so funny.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have my moments, even posted about it on my Baking In A Tornado FB page:

So yeah, you won't catch me laughing. Crying maybe, but not laughing.

You know I love mysteries and I recently was challenged with one myself. The Case of the Stowaway Bird.

I really like unsalted peanuts in the shell. I haven't seen them in a store for quite a long time (other than priced as if it were gold.

Hubs was in a hardware store and gave me a call. They had a 5# bag of peanuts for about $6. Sounds like they're for squirrels. He told me that they have them for squirrels also, but these are for people. Although a 5# bag will last pretty much forever, we decided he'd get them.

I had a few here and there the first few days. One day, I felt a stick in the bag. I poured some of the peanuts onto the counter and out came the stick. And a bird.

A bird?

These peanuts had a stowaway. And since they're grown and processed in North Carolina, I have to wonder what bird would leave that climate for winter in the Midwest.

I may need to do some investigating.

A text between PurDude and I:

Me: I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but dad is a cereal killer.

PurDude: What are you talking about?

Me: He's caused irreparable harm.

PurDude: I doubt it.

Me: I have proof:

A few minutes later, Hubs comes up from his man cave:

Hubs: What's going on?
Me: What are you talking about?

Hubs: PurDude just texted me.

Me: OK . . .

Hubs: Here's what he said . . . "is mom off her meds?"

Speaking of someone who is serially responsible for the murder of Americans, attacked and dragged away while just trying to live their lives in the cities they call home:

In last month's post, A Whole Hole, I questioned the intent of a news show praphic of trump. I certainly know what I thought about the situation, but the producers? Not positive. Could go either way.

But the next graphic I saw on the same show made it pretty clear.

Yes, that dope is an a-hole. And we all know it.

Now click on the links below and see what my friends have to share:

Menopausal Mother

On the Border

Italian Party Sub

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

6 oz grape tomatoes

2 TBSP Italian salad dressing

1 (14 - 16 oz) Italian Loaf, unsliced

4 TBSP butter

1/2 tsp garlic powder

6 oz shredded cheddar, gouda, and gruyere cheese mixture

10 slices deli black forest ham

10 slices deli roasted chicken

10 slices thin sliced pepperoni

1/2 cup pepperocini slices

1 cup spinach

8 slices provolone

Directions:

*Cut the tomatoes in half, mix with the Italian dressing and set aside.

*Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

*Slice the Italian loaf in half, lengthwise. Leaving about a 1 inch border, hollow out most (but not all) of the bread from the bottom, creating a boat. Leaving a 1 inch border, scrape out just some of the bread from the top.

*Mix together the melted butter and garlic powder. Brush about 2/3 of this mixture onto the bottom of the loaf.

*Into the bottom of the loaf, layer the shredded cheese mixture, followed by the ham slices, folded in half, the roasted chicken slices, folded in half, and the pepperoni slices.

*Top with the tomatoes mixed with the salad dressing, the pepperoncini slices, the spinach, and finally the provolone.

*Top with the remaining half of the bread. Brush the remaining butter and garlic powder over the top.

*Wrap tightly in heavy tin foil. Bake for 1/2 hour. Uncoover the top and bake for another 10 minutes.

Baking in a Tornado

I DO Know: Fly on the Wall