Several years ago, on a nearby quirky boulevard, there used to be a little shop that went by the stately name of Stuff ‘n’ Thangs. Whenever MB and I cruised by, we’d howl at the sight of that giant sign with its loud puffy letters twisting the English language and practically screaming out: Yo, yo, YO! Check it out! We got us some Stuff! And den we got us some Thangs! YO! Check it OUUUT! However, despite the friendly sausage-shaped letters of their signage, we never actually stopped to check out their stuff or their thangs since there were usually people loitering by the door who definitely did not have a friendly sausage-shaped look about them.
“Please, let’s go in there,” I would still whine.
“You’re not going in there,” he would counter.
“PLEASE! They have thangs. I need to know what thangs are! I wanna see some thangs!!”
A long weird look.
“You’re not going in there.”
Reasonable people suck.
So “Stuff ‘n’ Thangs” remained elusive, its contents secret, always calling in a voice that only I could hear — I guess — always holding the promise of sequined tube tops and gold chains with rhinestone letters and those nylon head beanie thingies. Or whatever merchandise actually classifies as “stuff ‘n’ thangs.” Maybe it was books of poetry. Maybe they sold encyclopedias. Coulda been, you know, Hummel figurines. Coulda been.
And I will never know.
But still — I can try to keep the idea of Stuff ‘n’ Thangs alive.
So.
Stuff ‘n’ Thangs is now my title for any posts I write that include a series of totally unrelated random things — you know, for example, most of my posts.
So stay tuned for some Stuff and maybe even some Thangs. And don’t worry. Together, with hearts beating steadfast in eternal hope, we will get to the bottom of what the hell that really means.
See, where I live, a “Stuff n Thangs” store would be a mixture of chipped late-70s Corningware dishes, dusty beanie babies (still priced what they were at the height of the Beanie Baby Bubble), silk flower tchotchkes, junk-shop-grade furniture, baskets, and wall-plaques with theologically-incorrect but “comforting” sayings on them.
I think I like your version of “Stuff n Thangs” better.
//So “Stuff ‘n’ Thangs†remained elusive, its contents secret, always calling in a voice that only I could hear //
hahahahaha That is such an insane sentence!!
I just read the Chocolate Milk one, and then proceeded with eager anticipation to read this one. I absolutely love the way you capture honest innocence. You made me want to find a place called “Stuff ‘n’ Thangs” for myself, just so I can explore it and find treasures in abundance, and then figure which ones are stuff and which ones are thangs.
Alas, but then I came to the last line and, Oh Maaaaaaan! I’m thinking, “Did she have to throw a ‘hell’ in there?” I know, I know, I admit, I’m a bit of a prude. Maybe its because I’m a gray-haired old coot with grandkids (my wife is still a knock-out, though). Its just that I was imagining taking that adventurous trip with those grandkids of mine. Innocence is so rare and fleeting.
But I love your writing and I love your passion, so please forgive me if I’m picky. And keep on writing, and writing, and writing…
Sorry, Witness. I do tend to say a few salty words ’round here from time to time. It’s a weakness of mine.
My favorite example of your salty language is your repeated contemptuous use of the epithet “Slappy”. It’s not technically a swear … but it might as well be.
“Listen, Slappy …”
“I’ve had enough from you, Slappy …”