Time to Air Out the Dirty Laundry

Rags-12-22-17

Rags for the Week of December 17, 2017

Here we are on Festivus, a day for us to air our grievances, my kind of day by golly! Although, everyday is a day like that for me. Why should today be any different?

For instance, when I’m counting calories while trying to shed some unwanted weight that’s detrimental to one’s well-being, why is it that some foodstuff packaging has listed the amount for an individual serving as being, for example, two ounces?

Like I have a scale handy on the kitchen counter to weigh each morsel for figuring out how many pieces of meat to put on my sandwich for tallying how many calories I have to burn. Why doesn’t it just say, “One serving equals three slices”?

The cheese packaging divulges how many calories per slice. The mayonnaise label tells me how many calories there are per tablespoon, even though I use a knife to spread it. I can guesstimate that. Even the bread package shows the amount of calories per slice.

What else, while I’ve got the floor? Oh, yeah, then there’s doing the dreaded food-shopping, one of my favorite gripes, for which the dastardly deed took place yesterday afternoon.  I had planned on putting it off for another day or so, but figured with the Christmas rush by other procrastinators, I had better do it right away.

Wouldn’t you know it? Everyone in my neighborhood and surrounding area must have had the same idea. The market was mobbed. To make matters worse, I kept running into this annoying lady who parked her shopping cart wherever I needed to grab an item.

First it was in front of the produce cooler at the cucumbers while she was looking for the largest one, I presumed. Now, now, I know what you’re thinking, because that what I was thinking at the time.

Then it was at the fresh-rolls cabinet, followed by the meat case, dairy aisle, Mediterranean-salad bar, and sundry other places as well.

After all that, she had the nerve to tell me to watch my behind at the condiments as she brushed past with her infernal shopping cart where I was standing. I should have told her to watch her own butt, as I was tired of looking at it while waiting for her to get out of my way.

Another regular gripe is about pricing. The manufacturer of my stack of paper plates I buy in order to avoid washing dishes, had lowered the package count again while charging the same price as previously set. When I first started buying them, one hundred pieces were provided.

That changed to ninety-seven, next at ninety-four and now it’s at ninety. I bet they think I don’t notice these things. It’s a shame I can’t do anything about it but complain while they are filling their wallets at my expense.

The rich get richer, while the poor get poorer. I tried telling that to my senators and congressman, but they don’t listen: case in point, the latest tax bill that just passed in the US, but that’s argumentative, depending on which side of the political aisle one sits and how fat one’s annual salary and investments portfolio are.

Getting back to the grocery aisles, the supermarket had run out of my favorite bread, no longer carried my brand of deodorant, and had a case full of over-ripe bananas.

OK, I’ve had my say for Festivus. Happy holidays for the rest of you, and may your new year be prosperous, healthy and happy as well. And may the world reach an agreement for peace instead of destruction.

With that in mind, allow me to share this ditty by John Lennon, covered by yours truly and the Steampunk Boogie Band. Cheers!

Thanks for stopping by and, as always, for your continued support.

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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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