Anything But Fruital

Surely everybody has watched the original Dick Van Dyke Show, the one that started (and perhaps finished, I don't remember) in black and white lo these many years and included a young Mary Tyler Moore? Cuppa and I used to watch it when we were first married back in 1969. Even then, we were watching reruns although it is possible that new episodes were still being produced — I can't remember that either.

Ever since that long ago epoch, we have freely used a word that was coined on that show: fruital, which I choose to spell with a 'u'. It was used in an episode where a lovestruck teenage youth began to moon over Laura, the character that Mary played.

Aside: I was in high school when the show started, so I could and still can, if I jog my memory, certainly understand the attraction.

In that particular episode, the boy wrote Laura a note in which he acknowledged that "My love is fruital," a rather obvious malaprop of futile. That word has stuck with us, and we still use it almost four decades later.

And it pretty much describes our day, or at least many of the events of the day.

When we moved here from Sarnia, I used my feeble brain for once and loaded up on wax guards for my hearing aids. I change them when I change the batteries: every ten days, give or take. Now, six months later, I'm finally beginning to scrape the bottom of that previously well-stocked barrel.

The nearest audiologist to us works about a half hour away on the fringes of Ottawa. However, I speculate that he may not take his work all that seriously, for when I arrived at the office, he was out, for coffee and/or a chat, I surmise. His young and inefficient secretary couldn't help. I could leave my hearing aids (does that make any sense?) or try again later. Fruital.

I chose the latter option, but he was at a meeting (yeah sure he was), but once again, I could leave my hearing aids and/or make an appointment. At that point I thought, "Not in my bloody lifetime, friend jerk," and off I went. Fruital. (There are two audiologists in a town about a half hour south of here, and I'll give them a call tomorrow.)

But wait! There's more. However, I will slip into my short version mode since you possibly want to read another blog or two today.

Cuppa tried on jeans in an over-heated Sears store for about an hour. She decided on a pair from the sale table. They weren't perfect but adequate for the price. After surviving a rather long and slow lineup at the Cashier, she discovered that one-half of the sale table wasn't on sale. Guess which half? Fruital.

We headed to the only refreshment place closeby in an attempt to regain equanimity after the Sears debacle: Starbucks. Bad idea really: we never seem to have much luck there. In the event, we ended up paying twelve bucks for two drinks and one little, brownie type of dessert. I know that millions feel differently, and you probably do too, but I think Starbucks is an over-priced outfit that serves incredibly mediocre fare. Fruital.

She tried both Sears and Winners for table decorations. She had seen them at both places previously. There was nothing today. Fruital.

We couldn't find any relevant travel guide books for our trip at the end of next month at Mountain Equipment Coop. Fruital.

When we got home, the eavestrough man called to say that our drainage problem was pretty well unfixable. Fruital.

Not so fruital: finding a useful travel guide at Chapters and, especially this: having a very nice visit with daughter over lunch. Made it all worthwhile really. Ah yes, when you've got a kid like that, life is anything but fruital!