It is fast approaching the point where I don’t want tAdenauer to want the job.
If God had meant us to walk around naked, he would never have invented the wicker chair.
Bombeck’s Rug Rule: an ugly carpet will last for ever.
Let me put it this way. According to my girth, I should be a ninety-foot redwood.
Maybe you know why a child can reject a hot dog with mustard served on a soft bun at home, yet eat six of them two hours later at fifty cents each.
To my way of thinking, the American family started to decline when parents began to communicate with their children.
What does it profit a 78-year-old woman to sit around the pool in a bikini if she cannot feed herself?
I was leafing through a magazine where there was a before-and-after picture of a woman who went from a size 5 to a size 3 by liposuction. Was she serious? I’ve cooked bigger turkeys than her “before” picture.
Having a delivery covered by Medicare just isn’t going to fly. It’s too risky for a woman to put a baby down and not remember where she left it.
There are few things in this world more satisfying than having your son teach you how to play tennis, unless it is having a semi-truck run over your foot.
I didn’t fear old age. I was just becoming increasingly aware of the fact that the only people who said old age was beautiful were usually twenty-three years old.
A grandparent is the only baby-sitter who doesn’t charge more after midnight – or anything before midnight.
Babies on television never spit up on the Ultrasuede.
Why take pride in cooking, when they don’t take pride in eating?
There was a time when the respect and trust my children had for me would have made you sick to your stomach. They believed I could blow on a red traffic light and turn it green.
Early in my life I had made a pact with myself. I would never eat anything that moved when I cooked it, excited the dog, or inflated upon impact with my teeth.
If the nest is truly empty, who owns all this junk?
Encourage independence in your children by regularly losing them in the supermarket.
Those magazine dieting stories always have the testimonial of a woman who wore a dress that could slipcover New Jersey in one photo and thirty days later looked like a well-dressed thermometer.
For some unexplained reason, it’s always the other end of the table that’s wild and raucous, with screaming laughter and a fella who plays ‘Holiday for Strings’ on water glasses.