You know how we tend to confide in our hairdresser or bartender? As a cashier down to the A&P, folks tend to confide in me, too, even if they don’t always know they’re doing it. Because checking out a person’s groceries is more intimate than you image. You know who’s drinking a little too much, who has a Doritos habit and who’s addicted to the National Inquirer. You see the same folks once a week, minimum, and you can kind of sense whether they’re feeling their oats or not. So I’m working register 3 per usual, cashing out Roberta “Bobbie” Robbins, making conversation, like you do. “How’s that cute little dog of yours? Blah, blah. …

As you know, I hang out with the greatest group of gals, Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot and Shirley or the Women Who Run With the Moose as we call ourselves. Heck, we’ve been close since even before Charlie and me started dating, so that goes back a ways. We’ve gone through good times and bad together, and I’ve still got the bridesmaids dresses to prove it. If you were in any doubt, bridesmaids dresses attest to the fact that one style is not flattering on all body types, and there are some colors you should never wear, ever. Trust me. I got around that by dressing my bridesmaids in different color pastels. Let’s see, Celeste …

When Charlie gets together with the boys, Bud, Smitty, Pat, Tommy and Junior, I always ask him what they talk about. And Charlie says, “Nothing.” Now, I find that hard to believe. I mean, they must talk about something, right? Every once and a while, though, he’ll come home dying to share some tidbit. And you know what? Most of the time, I wish he wouldn’t have. Here’s Charlie’s latest. Junior’s Trick That clever mouse is back, I see The one who makes a fool of me Each time I set my trap for him He runs off with the bait! Peanut butter’s what I use I set the trap before I snooze Next day, …

Ladies, you know how you can ask, then bug and, I’ll admit it, nag your husband to do something? Then all of a sudden, he does it at the least convenient time possible! Like when the hand towel rack in our guest bath had gotten kind of rickety and I put it on Charlie’s Honey-Do list. There it stayed for, oh, six months. Then on the day I’m hosting my book group’s annual cookie swap, Charlie decides to fix it. Seriously! And of course, it’s not an easy tighten a screw solution. No siree bob, we’re talking drilling, and patching holes and maybe a little touch up paint and why move the throw rug outta …

Ran into Pearl Plaisted at the A&P end of last week. She was doing a little pre-holiday shopping. “Hi there, Pearl,” I says, as I’m ringing her out. “I see you’re gonna to be making some pies for Thanksgiving.” “Yup! Desserts are my department. My daughter Sally cooks the main meal. Oh, and I’m responsible for the homemade cranberry sauce.” “Yum! I bet that’s good. Where’s your side kick?” I ask, referring to her husband. “Haven’t you heard? Hank’s in the hospital.” “He is?” “Pneumonia.” “No! How long’s he been in?” “Since last Wednesday.” “That’s terrible!” “Well, he’d been feeling punky for a couple of weeks. Then, he’s in the bedroom, taking a nap, when …

All of a sudden, I’m hearing this commotion in the bathroom. Sounds like Charlie’s trying to find something. “Hey, Ida!” “Yeah?” “You seen my nose hair clipper?” “Your what?” “You know, that thing I use to trim my nose hair.” “Where is it usually?” “Top drawer.” Nose hair clipper. I can kind of see it in my mind, this heavy, pewter-colored thing, looks kind of like a medieval torture device. “You mean that industrial strength roto-rooter I bought you a few years back?” “Yeah, that. Can’t find it.” Oh, no, I’m thinking. I can picture the thing now, in a plastic tray nestled between five or six lipsticks, all in crap colors, make you look …

Charlie and me are all set for Halloween Friday night. I bought a bunch of candy, ate it, bought some more, and you guess it. Now I’m candied out, so I took the left over candy and donated to the Community Center for their Halloween party. Who am I kidding? There was no left over candy. I had to buy more candy and drive directly to the Community Center, do not pass go, do not, under any circumstances, rip open that plastic bag. There was a moment where I thought they were going to have to pry that candy out of my hands, but I manage to let it go and run from the building …

Is it a guy thing, or is it just my husband? Charlie, who is usually pretty level headed, can get so “busy” doing stuff that common sense flies out the window. He’ll say to me, “Man, I’ve had a headache all day.” “Did you take anything for it?” “Nope.” “Why not?” “Too busy.” Yup. Stopping what he’s doing in the yard, coming inside, popping a couple of pills, then going back to work (which would take all of five minutes) is just too much multi-tasking for him. It’s ridiculous! Then there was the incident last winter, after one of the big snow storms, I noticed it seemed to take Charlie forever to snow blow the …

Lately, Charlie’s been driving me crazy with all his aches and pains. Actually, it’s not the aches and pains, because I get it, we’re old. It’s the fact that he won’t do anything about ’em. And when I gently suggest he maybe take a Tylanol and call the doctor to see what’s what, we end up with a shoot the messenger situation. I’m worried about him and want to strangle him, all at the same time. I’ll let him complain to you for a change. Write What You Know I’ve heard ’em say, “Write what you know” OK, I’ll give it a go: My ingrown toenail, let’s start there A daily source of my despair …

Along with this blog, I started writing a “Dear Ida” column in the Moose Megantic Gazette awhile back. I know! Wicking fun. I thought I’d share this letter with you because it’s a classic. It’s already been in the paper, but in case you missed it, here it is: Dear Ida, My wife don’t think I’m sexy no more. What do I do? Concerned in Calais Here’s what I said: Dear Concerned Who do I look like? Dr. Ruth? I’m short, but not that short! You want to know how to get your sexy back? Well, let’s see. A man vacuuming, that’s sexy. (Am I right, ladies?) A man snoring away in his Barcalounger? Mm, …