Oh Lord
Sometimes
In the stillness of the night
I feel Your presence Lord
I feel Your love
I feel Your peace
And Your nearness to me.
And I am at rest
In perfect peace
Hopeful knowledge
And thankful trust.
Dance … dance.
I must confess I’ve always wanted to be a professional dancer. Just like Fred Astaire or any other dancers you see in the movies and on TV.
The problem is I have big feet. Enormous feet!
When I get on the dance floor there is no room for anyone else because of my big feet. They take over the whole dance area.
And when I dance I tread on other peoples’ feet. If it’s a slow dance with the lights dimmed right down people trip on my feet and fall all over the place. I’ve had to put little flashing yellow lights on my shoes and a bleeping sound so that people can see my feet in the dark.
People say that the lights add to the atmosphere on the dance floor but the bleeping sound interferes with the music.
Someone suggested I take up line dancing. In line dancing people stand next to each other and mostly move sideways; so there’s no danger of stepping on anyone’s toes.
I tried line dancing. My big feet moved so slowly sideways that other dancers tripped over them as they moved left or right.
I tried ballet dancing. When I stood on tip-toe my head hit the ceiling and brought down a few tiles.
At a wedding once I danced the Hokey Cokey (Hokey Pokey). You know the one?
You put your left leg in, your left leg out,
In out in out, you shake it all about,
You do the Hokey Cokey and you turn around
That’s what it’s all about.
It was quite a sight seeing everyone else fall all over the floor whenever I stuck my feet out. At one point my big foot came out so suddenly it hit Aunt Matilda in the face sending her spectacles flying in the air. Everyone stopped to search for her glasses and I inadvertently kicked a few of them to the floor as I continued dancing not realizing what had happened.
The birdie song wasn’t a success either … nor was the conga line dance when they all follow each other across the floor.
So regrettably, Fred Astaire and all other famous dancers will get no competition from me. I’ll just sit on the side lines tapping my feet to the music … and watch everyone else bounce about as I shake the floor boards with my big feet.
Father Ignatius and the painter
Once upon a time there was an unscrupulous painter who was very interested in making extra money if he could. He often thinned down his paint with turpentine to make it go a bit further. Sadly, he got away with this for some time.
One day Father Ignatius decided to paint the outside of the Parish Hall white. He asked for several quotations and this painter’s was the lowest price quoted. As the priest was short of funds the painter in question got the job.
So he set about erecting the scaffolding and setting up the planks, and buying the paint and, yes, I am sorry to say, thinning it down with turpentine.
As the painter was up on the scaffolding, painting away, the job nearly completed, there was suddenly a horrendous clap of thunder, the sky opened, and the rain poured down washing the thinned paint from all over the Parish Hall walls, and knocking the painter clear off the scaffold to land on the lawn among the gravestones, surrounded by telltale puddles of the thinned and useless paint.
The painter realised that this was a judgement from above …
He got on his knees and cried:
“Oh God … oh God … help me … what should I do?”
And just then a thunderous voice replied:
“Repaint !!! Repaint !!! And thin no more !!!”
Morning Warning.
The laminated edge on the bathroom cabinet had come loose and last night I put a drop of super strong glue on it to fix it and left the tube on the shelf.
This morning, waking up early in the dark, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash. By mistake in my hurry I picked up the wrong tube and put glue on my toothbrush.
Immediately, my toothbrush got stuck solid to my teeth!
No matter how much I tried I could not budge it. The bristles on the toothbrush and my teeth had become one. United in marriage until death do them part.
No matter how much I tried to pull, push, or move the brush left or right; it just did not move. It remained stuck to my teeth and protruding from my mouth.
In a panic I yelled for “hlp” but the vowels in my words were stuck to my teeth and would not come out, since you normally require your lips to pronounce your syllables and vowels, and my lips were held permanently open by the protruding toothbrush.
I picked up the tube and read: “Sticks anything to anything permanently regardless of conditions. Works instantly on wet and dry surfaces just as effectively.”
Great!
There are quite a few words here which I don’t like at all. “Anything … permanently … instantly … and wet.”
What am I to do now?
I can hardly go to work with a toothbrush sticking out of my mouth.
I could poke someone’s eye out standing on the crowded bus. That would make an interesting injury compensation claim.
“I hurt my eye!”
“How did you do it?”
“Someone with a toothbrush out of his mouth poked me in the eye on a crowded bus!”
The Insurance people would never believe it.
And what if as I walked down the street a bird happened to perch on my toothbrush?
What do I do then? Do I shoo it away or leave it there? What if it pooed all over my shirt whilst perched there?
My imagination did somersaults somewhere within my brain whilst the toothbrush remained stuck there anticipating my next move.
What if I rinsed it with soapy water? Soap tastes awful and is ineffective. How about bubble bath liquid? Tastes just as bad. Shower gel? Shampoo? Aftershave lotion? None seem to work.
I look in the mirror and in desperation I get an idea.
What if I wedged the toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet’s door and pulled back sharply? One strong hard pull back with my head, whilst holding the door in position with both hands should do it.
Well … nearly.
The toothbrush handle broke and all I have left in my mouth is the end bit with the bristles. Still stuck fast to my teeth and refusing to consider divorce.
I can now pull my upper lip down slowly and stretch it over the toothbrush end to cover it from view. It looks as if I have a thick lip as happens when you’re punched by a boxer.
I eventually go to the dentist who somehow manages to free me from my ever so clingy toothbrush.
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