Why do clocks spring forward in the spring? After a winter of nose-to-the-grindstone work, I’m convinced that with the warming days, this should be a time of laying back and relaxing—not springing forward to get more office time out of each day.
Why is there a fragrance difference between runners, walkers, and sitters? Runners smell like deodorant, walkers like perfume, and sitters like bacon.
Why do houseplants flourish with companionship? I know a plant sitter who handles two dozen households every week. These houseplants are the stuff of legends: They are watered, pruned, talked to, and touched. When she goes on vacation, she leaves a giant picture of herself near all her charges and a nonstop tape of herself reading poetry. I’ve been talking to my plants for a week and they’ve shrunk.
Why do people waiting for their turn in a hairdresser’s chair bury their faces in a newspaper and utter not one word to anyone, but as soon as they settle in the chair can’t stop blabbing?
Why aren’t radio announcers more sensitive to their listeners? I was enjoying a nonstop lineup of songs during a long car trip and singing along with every word at the top of my lungs. And then the announcer boomed, “We hope you’ve enjoyed listening to these golden oldies where every tune reminds our listeners of days long ago when everyone was young and in love.”
Why do people circle around a beach parking lot for an hour looking for the closest spot to the gate and then spend three hours walking the shore looking for little pieces of beach glass?
Why does an unopened package of cookies last forever and once opened they last for eight hours?
Why would ANYONE get a tattoo? You pay for people to stick you with needles that cause you pain and leave you with something you can’t get rid of when you’re sick of it!
Why do everyone’s teeth look yellow in direct sunlight?
Why do travel agencies only tell you half-truths? A recent sign outside one said, “It’s 67 degrees in Alaska, why are you here?” They don’t tell you that it’s below zero at night.
Why would a sign on a narrow country road warn “Heavily Settled” but there’s only four houses?
Why is it that I cannot remember what I had for dinner last night but I can remember dinners from two decades ago—including what I ate, what I wore, who was there, AND WHAT THEY ATE?
Why do people write cookbooks with complicated recipes that take a few hours to prepare? These books have endless photos of each ingredient and how the completed dish looks.
I’ve decided to write a book on microwave cooking. Each recipe will feature photos of the microwave I’m using, the frozen item still frozen, and the item once it’s ready to eat. I’m predicting it will be a bestseller.
Humorist and freelance scribe Joyce Faiola is a consultant/designer for the hospitality industry and lives in New England. Her e-mail is JLFaiola@Juno.com
