Rooching for Thingamajigs
by Bob Batz
I noticed the other day that a new and really cute little phrase has worked its way into my first wife Sally’s rather extensive vocabulary.
The phrase is “I need that.”
Sally most frequently uses the phrase when we are prowling the narrow aisles at one of those discount department stores and she spots some totally useless item that’s worth maybe 19 cents tops, but is on sale for a limited time only for $27.99.
“I need that,” she declares, tugging on my shirt sleeve.
After a moment of silence, I usually ask, “What?”
“That doohickey over there,” she replies, pointing to a shelf that is groaning under of weight of about 6,321 totally useless items.
Let me interject right here that my mother also had special words for all things she didn’t have regular words for.
Mom’s favorite words also included “thingamajig” and “doohickey” and, of course, the ever-popular “whatchamacallit”.
Mom didn’t purchase silly things, of course, because my parents survived the Great Depression and for the rest of their lives they never spent money on things they thought they didn’t need. Case in point: When television came along, my father refused to buy a TV set because, as he often put it, “It’ll never replace radio,” which forced me to spend many bitter cold winter evenings standing on the sidewalk to watch the TV set that was in the front window of an appliance store two blocks from my home.
Sally, on the other hand, is just the opposite of my father. Certain things attract her attention more than others.
Turn her loose in a discount store and she’ll fill a shopping cart in a matter of seconds. Her favorite stores aren’t those establishments that display their items neatly on shelves. Instead, she prefers stores that buy useless items by the millions, then scatters them haphazardly on counter tops and crams them into plastic containers as large as four-door Cadillacs.
Yes, my wife is in her glory when she’s rooching – another of my mother’s words – around in those containers.
“Why are you rooching around in that container?” I ask.
“Because I might find something really good in here,” she replies.
When she’s shopping, Sally’s favorite things include – but are not limited to – purses, cookbooks, earrings, pet toys, gloves and more purses.
In Sally’s defense, however, she has found some really neat things in plastic containers over the years.
All four of them.
by Bob Batz
I noticed the other day that a new and really cute little phrase has worked its way into my first wife Sally’s rather extensive vocabulary.
The phrase is “I need that.”
Sally most frequently uses the phrase when we are prowling the narrow aisles at one of those discount department stores and she spots some totally useless item that’s worth maybe 19 cents tops, but is on sale for a limited time only for $27.99.
“I need that,” she declares, tugging on my shirt sleeve.
After a moment of silence, I usually ask, “What?”
“That doohickey over there,” she replies, pointing to a shelf that is groaning under of weight of about 6,321 totally useless items.
Let me interject right here that my mother also had special words for all things she didn’t have regular words for.
Mom’s favorite words also included “thingamajig” and “doohickey” and, of course, the ever-popular “whatchamacallit”.
Mom didn’t purchase silly things, of course, because my parents survived the Great Depression and for the rest of their lives they never spent money on things they thought they didn’t need. Case in point: When television came along, my father refused to buy a TV set because, as he often put it, “It’ll never replace radio,” which forced me to spend many bitter cold winter evenings standing on the sidewalk to watch the TV set that was in the front window of an appliance store two blocks from my home.
Sally, on the other hand, is just the opposite of my father. Certain things attract her attention more than others.
Turn her loose in a discount store and she’ll fill a shopping cart in a matter of seconds. Her favorite stores aren’t those establishments that display their items neatly on shelves. Instead, she prefers stores that buy useless items by the millions, then scatters them haphazardly on counter tops and crams them into plastic containers as large as four-door Cadillacs.
Yes, my wife is in her glory when she’s rooching – another of my mother’s words – around in those containers.
“Why are you rooching around in that container?” I ask.
“Because I might find something really good in here,” she replies.
When she’s shopping, Sally’s favorite things include – but are not limited to – purses, cookbooks, earrings, pet toys, gloves and more purses.
In Sally’s defense, however, she has found some really neat things in plastic containers over the years.
All four of them.
