Correspondence

Grandpa Wiggly answers your letters.

Lemon Party

Dear Grandpa Wiggly,

Have you ever been to a Lemon Party?

Sincerely,
Chuck

Unfortunately, dear Chuck, I have been to a Lemon Party, but it was nothing like I expected.

I didn’t know what a Lemon Party was and to be honest, I’m still not sure. Details of the evening are spotty at best. I thought it was going to be like a Tea Party (the non-crazy kind), of which I’ve attended many. I thought we were going to be making lemonade. I even called first squeeze! But no lemons were squeezed that day, my friends. I must have looked pretty silly when I showed up carrying that sad sack of freshly-picked lemons.

I should have known there was something amiss when the gracious host offered me a spot of tea without first putting water on to boil.

“Care for a hot tea bag, Wiggly?” he said.

“Oh, yes, that would certainly hit the spot,” I said.

“How do you take it? One lump or two?”

“Two with just a drizzle of cream.”

It was more than a drizzle. A deluge is not a drizzle! Where did this brute learn his tea etiquette anyway? I doubt he even owns a tea kettle!

Let me tell you, that was the last time I’ll ever attend a Lemon Party with those overly eager and rude gentlemen. When it came time to play games — bizarre games I’ve never heard of before — they were rather selfish and couldn’t even wait their turns. I don’t care how many hard sixes in a row you roll, where I come from the guest always shoots first.

Naturally, I didn’t stick around for their followup game of craps. Hard six, my tuckus!

That whole evening left a sour taste in my mouth that took me weeks of gargling and brushing with mayonnaise to rid. I guess that’s why they call it a Lemon Party.

Last Night’s Dinner (Supper)

Hello, world! Grandpa Wiggly here with more of your correspondence. Today’s letter asks one of Grandpa Wiggly’s favorite questions in the whole wide world:

Dear Grandpa Wiggly,

What did you have for dinner last night? I had pizza and a few beers.

— Josh

Well, grandchildren Josh, first things first: Beer is not a good thing to have for dinner. In fact, drinking in general can be very dangerous if you’re not careful. It can lead to accidents or even marriage (eek! 🙂 and you don’t want that. You’re also at a higher risk of going off on a drunken tirade. Casual drinking can still be fun. Just don’t drink and drive. Ever! If you need a ride, call your Grandpa Wiggly.

You must have known that I love talking about my last night’s supper. I assume you mean supper, because Grandpa Wiggly considers dinner to be what most people call lunch. My supper is what you probably call dinner. Even though you asked about dinner, which is lunch to me but supper to you, your clearly initiated inquiry indicated a meal consumed “last night.”

Many years ago, my ill-tempered, one-armed wife, Effie, or as some of the mean kids on the block call her, Grandma Nub, instituted an executive marriage dinner decision by eliminating the light midday meal known as lunch all together, and instead began cooking a heartier (and heavier) dinner. We usually eat dinner between 10 and 11 in the morning, followed by a short walk, and then a refreshing afternoon nap. That’s when Effie watches her stories. Such rubbish!

Regardless of all that, I had the same thing for supper last night as I did for dinner, which is lunch to you. Are you with me, Josh? Okie dokie!

Part of what fuels Grandpa Wiggly is what goes into Grandpa Wiggly, and what goes into Grandpa Wiggly comes out of Grandpa Wiggly. Effie didn’t cook any supper last night so I had my two favorite foods: corn niblets and wet bread. As you probably know, Grandpa Wiggly no longer has his original teeth. “You’re all gums,” Effie says. That’s just what happens when you get old. You start to lose things like teeth, hair, pants, and even your… um… I forgot. What was Grandpa Wiggly going on about again?

Haha! I’m just joshing you!

So, Internet, do you eat dinner or supper? What did you have for supper (or dinner) last night?

Hump Day

Oh boy! The emailman just delivered my very first correspondence!

Dear Grandpa Wiggly,

Why does my mommy call Wednesdays hump day?

Jessie
Portland, Oregon

Well Jessie, your mommy likely calls Wednesday “hump day” because Wednesday is the middle of the week. Assuming your mommy works the traditional Monday through Friday, Wednesday is the hump in the workweek. Once Wednesday has come and gone, you are over the hump and the rest of the week is downhill. Wheeeeee!

Now of course Wednesday is considered hump day if you look at your week from the five-day workweek perspective. In a seven-day week that begins with Monday, Thursday would technically be the hump. Wednesday would be the hump in a seven-day week that begins with the Sabbath. I should probably specify the Christian Sabbath, Sunday. Friday evening to Saturday evening is the Jewish Sabbath, which I guess would make Saturday night to Sunday night their Monday, and Tuesday night to Wednesday night their hump day. Unless they round up, which would make… This is too confusing. I should have just said Sunday instead of Sabbath and been done with it.

Mondays are just Mondays. Everybody hates Mondays! Unless of course your Mondays are part of your weekend. Sunday is Grandpa Wiggly’s Friday so that makes Monday and Tuesday my weekend. Mondays are so terrible that many businesses are closed. Hitler was born on a Monday, which back then they called Saturday in Austria–Hungary. Monday is usually when I make mayonnaise for the week, that’s why I call it Mayonnaise Monday! (Did you know mayonnaise saved kids from the Nazis? It’s true!)

My ill-tempered, one-armed wife, Effie, disagrees with the official Wiggly Calendar. Then again, her week consists of twice as many days on account of her bitterness and cattiness about everything and nothing. She follows the cat calendar, and I don’t mean those 16-month calendars of cuddly cute cat pictures that are sold in the mall around Christmas. I mean the feline calendar.

One cat year is equivalent to fifteen (!) human years. Once you factor in that cats have nine lives, I can’t even begin to fathom when cat hump day falls. That sounds like a task for Math. Or cats.

For Grandpa Wiggly, Wednesday is the first day of my week because, as all of you know grandchildren know, Wednesday is Wiggly Wednesday. That makes Saturday Grandpa Wiggly’s hump day, which makes today, Tuesday, my Sunday.

So, Jessie, now you know why your mommy calls Wednesday “hump day.” If I’m wrong and there happens to be another reason, I think that’s a conversation best left between the two of you. Thanks for writing!