The Pillsbury Doughboy died last Friday of a yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 51.
Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, who has a bun in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart.
Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. The ceremonies were leavened with lighthearted reminiscences. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, Melba Toast, The California Raisins, Betty Crocker, and Captain Crunch. Sadly, The Hostess Twinkies were unable to attend as they recently bit the dust themselves. The grave site was piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes.
Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was considered a roll model for millions.
The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes on Tuesday.
I found this lesson in idioms in my paperwork, and thought it should have one more airing before being confined to the recycle bin. I hope you enjoyed it. 🙂
On Friday I went to Costco and was so horrified by what I saw that I decided to write about it.
What, you are asking, could horrify me so?
If I saw one more flabby ass in skin-tight leggings and a short shirt, I was going to have to slap the stupid woman wearing them. In other words, leggings worn as pants are NEVER acceptable in public. Even this picture of the stunning Olivia Wilde tells you that they look bad. And trust me, none of us look like Olivia Wilde — not even in our wildest dreams.
Let’s get one thing clear: if you are older than five, you are too old to wear leggings as pants. I can’t tell you how many middle-school girls wore skin-tight pleggings to school with short shirts that didn’t cover their butt or their hoo-has. Really? Is that what their mothers and fathers wanted the middle school boys to think about all day?
I don’t hate leggings. Even I have leggings that I wear with long tunic tops and short sweater dresses. They are comfortable and appropriate for a mature woman if worn with a suitable tunic top. Apparently women wear them in France with tunics, so they must still be fashionable as well.
So ladies, get a grip. Grown-ups do not wear pleggings. Don’t let your daughters wear pleggings. End of story. And don’t even talk to me about meggings. Surely this is someone’s idea of a cruel joke.
My refrigerator is bare — it’s a good example of the meaning of the word barren.
I’ve been so busy burning the retirement candle at both ends for the last couple of weeks that I haven’t had the time or, quite frankly, the motivation to go grocery shopping. The top shelf is full of condiments and the door is full of salad dressing, but there’s nothing to put them on. There’s some floppy broccoli that’s going to have to turn into quiche or something. And I discovered this morning that there aren’t any eggs in the house. I can’t remember when that has ever happened. We ALWAYS have eggs.
Since I usually choose to take the positive side of stories, I’m going to look at my vast wasteland of a refrigerator as an opportunity to clean it.
And after that I’m going to clean my socks drawer. 🙂