I Got To Thinking One Day About

Most Mothers Entering The Labor Market Outside The Home Are Naive. They Stagger Home Each Evening, Holding Mail In Their Teeth, The Cleaning Over Their Arm, A Lamb Chop Defrosting Under Each Armpit, Balancing Two Gallons Of Frozen Milk Between Their Knees, And Expect One Of The Kids To Get The Door.

Humorists Can Never Start To Take Themselves Seriously. It's Literary Suicide.

Someone Once Threw Me A Small, Brown, Hairy Kiwi Fruit, And I Threw A Wastebasket Over It Until It Was Dead.

Explain To Me How He [her Son] Can Ride A Bicycle, Run, Play Ball, Set Up A Camp, Swing, Fight A War, Swim And Race For Eight Hours ... And Has To Be Driven To The Garbage Can.

The Bad Times I Can Handle. It's The Good Times That Drive Me Crazy. When Is The Other Shoe Going Going To Drop?