Bee My Basket Pound

by pjmcbride

Someone called 911 for a hangnail. Come to think of it, I’ve got an ingrown toenail that should be looked at.


–Can we have an adult holiday for once? None of this “Grandson, Bee My Valentine” nonsense. The day should be about chocolates and roses and massage oil. Hey, it’s too cold to come out from under the covers anyway.

–Valentine presents to avoid include: A.) a stuffed bear with a heart on it, and B.) a fake rose from a convenience store. If you find yourself at a convenience store doing your Valentine’s Day shopping, I recommend the giant Reese cup heart. In fact, I’m craving one right now.

–Not to give anyone ideas, but why doesn’t Valentine’s Day include Frosty the Snowman? The weather is the same.

–A lottery ticket is a good addition to a pre-existing gift, but never give a lottery ticket as the only gift. Because the odds are that they’ll get…nothing.

I don’t think they do it anymore, but I used to enjoy reading the Valentine classified ads in the paper, and laughing at people’s pet names for each other, which were, of course, sillier than the ones Rom and I employ. I was struck in particular by how many couples stated, “You’re my Basket Pound.” I had no idea this was a common endearment. For that matter, what the hell does it mean? A basset hound for the illiterate?


sulled-up (derivation: Rom, via his northern Florida relatives): sullen, surly, as in, “You don’t have to get all sulled-up about it.”