Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus 09/24/21

I actually have no idea about the planets. Suffice it to say that men and women are, well, different. Take the case of television watching, for example. When we watch something my wife likes, she will ask me to turn the volume up so she can hear it. When I watch a ball game, any kind of ball game at any time of the day or night, I am asked to turn the volume down. When I mentioned this to John, he immediately went for an English period drama (the most boring thing we could think of to watch (although I did love The Crown) vs. the most boring sports moment we could think of. The announcer saying what yard line the football is on. You see, if we had the announcer saying “Touchdown” or “It’s outta here” for a home run, that would be loud all by itself, so we went for dull, the ball is on the 35-yard line.

We shared a beach house this summer with my daughter, son-in-law and their child, our first grandchild. After the kids put the baby to bed, we’d all watch a drama (no, not an English period drama. It was Designated Survivor, if you must know) and I swear, the volume was up to 30. When said drama was over, I’d tune in the Mets game, which I had previously recorded. The volume was at 15, and I was repeatedly asked to “Turn that down, wayyyyy down.” I pointed out that nobody in the house could possibly hear it, because at this point, I couldn’t hear it. Men are from Mars…

Our other comic came from nowhere else but our imaginations. We’ve all heard of the cliche of the husband running off with the nanny, or babysitter or au pair, or whatever else you call them these days. And we flipped it on its head. If you remember a storyline from our recent past, Sam and Shellie hired a male nanny (who had just come out of prison—hey it’s a comic, we can do anything we want). And when Sam decides to do a guy thing and go to the car show, well, what’s a woman supposed to think? That men are from Mars, and women are from Venus. We rest our case.

That’s all she wrote (who the hell is SHE anyway)? Have a great weekend and we will see you next week with two new comics.

Andy and John

Expectations 6/18/21

Sometimes things turn out much, much better than we expect. And sometimes they turn out a lot worse. I remember once coming home to find my young son with an enormous 6’5” mountain of a man, I had never met before. When I went to ask him who he was I noticed he was teaching my son the alphabet. Turns out he was the boyfriend (and later husband) of our nanny who was taking care of our older daughter at the time. He was partially the inspiration for Sonny, the tattooed, ex-con, mountain of a man who is quietly becoming the best nanny we’ve ever seen. Sam and Shellie hit the nanny-jackpot with Sonny. We combined this story with another one that takes place outside my window several times a week. What I have observed is a mommy-exercise class. All these new moms have their babies in jogging strollers, including the instructor, who shouts out exercises they do while hanging on to the backs of their strollers. My daughter, a recent mother herself, enrolled in such a class in Brooklyn. One of the funnier incidents she recalled occurred when the instructor was demonstrating leg lifts (expertly illustrated by John) while simultaneously changing the diaper of her own baby! Anyway, since this is about Sonny, we changed the class to a nanny-exercise class. There really isn’t a big difference between a mommy class and a nanny class except for the fact that the nannies aren’t clad head-to-toe in Lululemon gear.

Now you might be wondering why I first talk about the second comic you see. I have reasons but they are both complicated and boring, not the stuff for a blog. Suffice it to say that the latest comic you enter appears first in the newsletter. Now you probably have no idea what I just said do you? That’s okay because I don’t either.

Moving onto the second strip (which of course appears first - don’t ask, I’m beggin’ you), we revisit the constantly evolving world of bicycles. There are two basic types of riders. One, like John, have carbon-fiber bikes that weigh only a couple pounds, and they also have pedals that require a special bike shoe that clips into said pedals. They think nothing of taking a 50-mile ride (I think that’s a lot of distance even when i’m in a car). Apparently, you have to wear brightly-colored spandex (which is a total non-starter for yours truly). As for the clip-on shoes, you just have to remember to unlatch one of your feet before you come to a stop, otherwise, crash! The other type of bike rider is like me. I have an electric, pedal-assist bike that helps me get up steep hills (after which I turn the motor off, I promise!!). It weighs about 55 pounds and has upright handlebars and a comfy seat. Readers, no matter which type of rider you are, we all experience the occasional fall. But when you pass 60 years of age, a fall exposes a dichotomy. The dichotomy is between the way we perceive ourselves as bike riders and the way others perceive us. I know this because I fell about a year ago after just passing the entrance to my apartment building. I sheepishly got up and before I could hop on the bike again, 5 or 6 workers, gardeners, delivery guys, etc., all came sprinting to the scene of the accident and asked if I was okay. ‘I’m fine,’ I insisted as I ignored the pain in my left buttock. Marv stands in as a cross between my type of bike rider and John’s.

That’s it for this week. We will see you (at least virtually) next week with two new ones. Until then, have a great weekend and if you happen to go for a bike ride, please, unclip your foot BEFORE you stop.

Andy and John