Free The Funny Thing Is... by Ellen Degeneres Page B

cars. I don’t want to buy from a dealership that allows this degree of incompetence.
    5. The salesman at the big electronics store who tells you how well-made and dependable the TV is that he’s trying to sell you, and that he’s never had any customers who have experienced any problems with it. Then, when you get to the register, he tries to sell you the extended warranty.
    6. My masseuse, who always says, “Boy, you’re really tight today.” Just once I’d like to hear her say, “Wow, your muscles are incredibly loose and relaxed. Why are you even here?”
    7. When I’m standing at a cash register and the cashier says, “Ten twenty-five. Got a quarter?” I want to say, “No, I’m sorry. Let me find a cash register somewhere so I can get change and I’ll be right back.”
    OR, if I tell them I don’t have the exact change, they say “No problem.” I want to say, “I never thought there was a problem. You’re the cashier… This is a cash register. Making change is your job. I didn’t expect a problem.”
    8. Bumper stickers that say, “I owe, I owe, so off to work I go.” Or, “I’m late, but worth the wait.” Okay, we get it… You’ve got terrible money and time-management skills.” These are character flaws. Why advertise them? While you’re at it, how about, “I’ve got poor personal hygiene.” Put that on a bumper sticker, why don’t you?
    9. The way ranch dressing is always ordered “on the side.” It’s the mistress of salad dressings. Won’t somebody stand up and make a commitment to ranch dressing? Stop treating her like a whore. Let her come with the salad to the dinner party. Don’t force her to drive in a separate car!
    10. Dr. Muflin’s blinds in his den. They’re those metal ones instead of wood and they are almost impossible to clean. I know it’s only his den, but you should never skimp on window treatments.
    Well, I’d write more but I don’t want to be late for therapy. My chores today are organizing Dr. Muflin’s sock drawer, mulching his prize roses, and trimming the high branches in his apple orchard. Golden Delicious. It figures.

my dad was like a father to me
    I get a lot of cards and letters asking me to write about my dad. Well, most of them come from my dad. Sometimes he tries to fool me by signing a woman’s name, then putting on lipstick and kissing the envelope. His scheme doesn’t fool me. The return address sticker he got from donating to the ASPCA is a dead giveaway.
    Since his birthday is coming up and I haven’t found a good card yet, I figured I might as well give him his wish and write something about my dad.
    I remember my childhood like it was yesterday or even this morning. Yet I was a little innocent girl, so I know it wasn’t this morning because I was this age even yesterday. But what I remember most is late afternoon, dinnertime. Mama would be in the kitchen with Suky, our nanny. Suky was blind, so I don’t even know why she’d be in the kitchen because she wasn’t allowed to help cook. She once sprinkled the Christmas cookies with Ajax. I didn’t mind. But anyway, if it was Friday, supper would be a big kettle of fresh vegetable soup. Grandma would chop the carrots and celery. Every week she’d wave her big cleaver in the air, calling out the same thing: “Ooh, this knife is sharp. Y’all be careful. Whoa! I can’t control my arm! Just kiddin’.” Grandma was so funny. And dangerous.
    Usually, I’d be in the backyard playing
Starsky & Hutch
with my best friend, Lucy Tanzamar. (Hi, Lucy!) She had a huge head and always wore jumpsuits. My favorite was a bright yellow one with nuts all over it—every kind of nut, not just two or three. It had peanuts, pecans, pistachios, almonds, cashews, Brazil, acorns, macadamia, walnut, chestnut, pine, beechnut, filbert, hickory, mixed. Later we found out that peanuts, almonds, and walnuts weren’t nuts at all but actually something called “drupes.” We used to laugh about that,