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This Must Be Foist Classsss…
Kranky Kitty
Roomba Love
Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post
Dance Dunce

This Must Be Foist Classsss…


As a retired American Airlines flight attendant, I have never written a letter of any kind to any airline regarding bad service or experiences. I can certainly appreciate the hard work flight crews do, along with the fact their main purpose is for passenger safety, and any meal service or niceties fall in the “icing on the cake” category. But my sister who is, by far, the nicest person I know, told me of her recent experience as she flew out to visit her ninety-year-old mother. When she asked my opinion, I knew immediately she had been treated badly. It was only a moment, but as any of us know, one moment can stick for a lifetime. This may sound trivial, but if you read my letter that I am ghostwriting for her, you will probably relate to it on some level. My sister also had the ah-ha moment of realizing this flight attendant would probably never have said it to a male passenger. That is mere conjecture at this point, but I had to agree with her. In general, that would not have happened to a seasoned business man traveling in First Class. I leave it to you to decide for yourself. And for the record, I love American Airlines. I loved working for them. And I do realize this is merely one individual in a sea of incredibly great employees.

To American Airlines…

I am a big fan of American Airlines and I am not happy to have to write this letter, but I was traveling between LAX and ORD on [yada,yada,yada,] and had an uncomfortable experience related to one of the flight attendants. I’m sorry to say I cannot tell you her name, but she has dark hair, is fairly senior, and is a little heavy set.

I choose to fly First Class and enjoy the comforts that go with it. But on this particular flight, I was reprimanded by a flight attendant in a way that I felt was inappropriate. I had ordered a Bloody Mary and as she was placing cans down on my tray table, I realized she had accidentally put a soda can down and I told her I had ordered a Bloody Mary. She responded, with attitude, “You could have told me that before I put the can down.”

First of all, I was assuming she knew what she was doing as she was setting up drinks for the person in the seat next to me, as well as what she was placing onto my tray table.

I was pleasant in correcting her, to let her know she simply needed to replace whatever it was she served me, with the drink I had actually ordered.

Mistakes happen. I am not a demanding person. But when she admonished me, for the mistake she had made, it made me feel bad. I actually questioned myself, wondering if I had not reacted quickly enough.

I was taken aback and wish I had responded appropriately to her snide remark, instead of trying to explain why I didn’t correct her mistake rapidly enough for her taste. As if removing the can was really putting her out. I will leave you with this quote:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
― Maya Angelou

And this flight attendant started my four hour flight off, in FIRST CLASS, making me feel stupid. Perhaps she needs a gentle reminder from Maya Angelou.

Sincerely disappointed,

Amy’s kind and unassuming sister

Complaint letter xx

Kranky Kitty

Head on over to follow

He’s a cat with an angry attitude.

Challenge Accepted xx

Shufflin' Shufflin' xx

I'm HOME! xx

Face HUG xxx

Bidet fix xx

Roomba Love

Don’t hate me cuz I’m lazy, and I won’t hate you for your fear of aging and having multiple plastic surgeries to appease that as long as you can.

Lesson of the day: One new robot/work-reducing toy adds, at a minimum, two new jobs or things to do. The Roomba will clean your floors for you, but now that I have one, here is my list of new chores…

1. Pick up pee pads, obvious obstructions, or anything that will tangle the Roomba up. This is risky in the brutal winter. The dogs are refusing to go outside and I have heard through the Reddit grapevine, one NEVER wants to come home to a Roomba that ran over some dog shit and proceeded to smear it over, and over, all OVER the floor. The day that happens, I call a Hazmat service to clean floors, throw the Roomba out (obviously into some neighbor’s trash bin), and contact a realtor to help us relocate to a blue state with a milder climate. If those actually exist.

2. Empty the dust bin of the Roomba, because it is fairly small, OR my house is incredibly filthy. I choose to believe the former. Please note our floors haven’t seen this much action since we had a maid for a few years. By my calculations, that is about fifteen years of neglect one little rotating frisbee has to break through. But as I always say, “better thee, than me.” (Suckah!)

3. Swiffer the top of the roomba that has gathered so much dust, either while between gigs, or because so much gets kicked up during its shift. So now I’m cleaning my cleaning device. I usually do this while it rolls near my desk chair, so all I have to do is hold the swiffer to it, while it rotates or moves. Beats me actually walking over to it while it is docked, to Swiffer it. A new personal low, I’m proud to say.

Swiffer Roomba

Once, it began making a weird clicking noise, so I had to stop it, actually lift it up and look at the underside…kinda like picking up a turtle and being curious about its underbelly. Only in this case I see lots of hair tangled around the rotator brush, wheels, and anything else it can grab onto. The only thing running through my head is “Dammit. I won’t be able to erase that from my memory,” so I put it back on the filthy, hairy, floor where it belongs, and my hands and knees do not.

Actual photo of my Roomba was censored for being too graphic and causing projectile vomiting.

Actual photo of my Roomba was censored for being too graphic and causing projectile vomiting.

I let it rest a few days. Suddenly it starts up all by itself and begins cleaning the tv room floor. No clicking. Winner. I fixed it. However, I am alerted to the idea this clever little machine is capable of calling in sick and won’t be covered by my insurance. With something this technologically advanced, clearly any doctor visit is going to cost a lot.

So I ask myself, is it really worth it? This lazy-ass says yes!
There is something inherently cool about a machine doing work for you. I feel the same way about the dishwasher. Sure you have to load and unload it. For now, that’s as good as it gets. Sure you still have items that need to be hand washed. I still love knowing I can set the timer on that sucker, and my dishes are being cleaned while. I. sleep. And unlike the Roomba, it takes a professional to delve into its taint, so I don’t have to scar my temporal lobe any further.

I am going to have to do the math on whether all the money I spend trying to simplify my life, amounts to being able to afford an actual cleaning service. I don’t expect it to be worth three times a week or anything, but even once a month would be good enough for my impossible standards.

Oh. I better add in the cost of lottery tickets that are an investment in the future and the opportunity to be even lazier. A girl can wet/dry dream.

Pier photo courtesy of

Pier photo courtesy of


People in the world of writing and blogging are familiar with November being a motivational month. There is #NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and now there is #‎NaBloPoMo‬ (National Blog Posting Month.)

Presumably it is to encourage people to write every day and to end up with a full rough novel at the end of the month.

My friend, Mandy Brasher and I find it to be a little too daunting. We made our own writing prompt…#CloYoBloMo OR “Clog Your Blog Month.”

It is an impossible task, but I am finding ways to make time.

No time to stop writing!

No time to stop writing!

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post

One of the people I have met through attending the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop thrilled me by asking me to submit a guest post to her site. Marcia Kester Doyle is someone I admire and love for all her energy, zest and writing talents. She has accomplished a great deal and you should definitely check her funny blog out.

Right AFTER you read my piece called “Quiz Whiz.”

Thank you Marcia for the pleasure of being a part of your site. I am always touched by the support and love the writing community has for each other and you are one of the most generous among them.


Dance Dunce

In one of our early moments as empty nesters, my husband and I were having an average, uneventful day when the song by Josh Turner “Why Don’t We Just Dance” comes on. Impossible to resist, I kick off my Crocs and dance.

Before Brad can get up from the kitchen table, I turn it into a mild burlesque aimed at him. I’m self-conscious, but Brad looks at me like I’m Jaime Lee Curtis in her dance scene from True Lies and he’s Arnold, so I pelvic thrust onward.

His face is rapt, while I’m forcing an out-of-body experience to get past my cellulite-awareness, hating those damn tabloids at the checkout that show horrible pics of celebrities in bathing suits, while posing the question, “Can you guess who these hot messes are?” (And I do have an Enquiring mind. Who doesn’t want to see a celeb who has helped create impossible standards fall? I like knowing they’re human. I like it even more if their lumpy backsides are more human than mine.)

As usual, my mind wanders while Brad’s hopes rise.

My body continues to writhe and work its way towards Brad, who is still seated, knowing he must savor every seductive move because this doesn’t happen every day decade. To his delight, my body moves in for a lap dance. I’m in full fantasy mode now and so is Brad. He glances toward our cluttered table and grabs the nearest scrap of paper to stuff down my pants like a high roller at the club.

“Yeah big Daddy, make it rain!”

He shoves the stiff paper where I rarely let the nightstand lights shine, and I lean in to tease him with a kiss, but the piece of paper bugs me, so I pull it out and start to wave it in the air, ‘like I just don’t care’, when my peripheral vision catches a glimpse of what it is.

Try as I might to stay in the moment, being ‘tipped for a strip’ with an AARP magazine ad insert is too ironic to miss. Guffaw.

“That is perfect! You really know how to flatter a girl.”

“It was the closest thing I could find. I didn’t want to stop the action.”

Professional as I may be, I cannot stay in character after this. The romance is gone, but it is my favorite fantasy-block ever and Brad is duly rewarded…right in his funny bone.

Still got it!

Still got it!

Copyright © 2014 Amy Sherman

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