Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if everyone was born with love for God and terrific sense of humor. If we could live almost 100 years and always have that witty sense of humor and remember to thank God everyday for all that he has given us.
I’d just like to share a story of a lady just like that. She is ninety-nine years old and sharp as a tack. She is so much fun to spend time with. She is my aunt, Myrtle Bridgford.
A few months ago she called both my sister and I. She said she was starting a sewing class and wanted us to join. I asked what the class was and she said, “Oh, it’ll be fun. You’ll learn so much and the instructor is great. It’s me.” She went on with her big story.
We laughed so much about it. My sister said “You need to write her a poem about this,” so I wrote her a poem titled “Myrtle’s Marvelous Mending.” She really enjoyed it and we all got a laugh out of her sewing class joke.
Later on, She was in Tennessee at her sons. My sister had bought some curtains that she was complaining were crooked. I told her she needed Aunt Myrtle to straighten those people out. My sister immediately said, “Write her a poem about that.” I did. I just wrote it and sent it to my aunt in Tennessee-unsigned. She sent her response in a poem. I love it and will always treasure it. It is truly an example of the wit and humor that can last a century with the blessing of God’s love.
She turned ninety-nine last June and every year was spent loving God and sharing her terrific sense of humor. What a blessing!
This was her response she sent to me.
A Sad Story
I opened my mail and what a surprise,
There was a nasty poem right before my eyes.
She wrote the poem, but she didn’t sign.
I knew who it was, her name is the same as mine.
She wanted me to teach her to sew,
But it was almost impossible, because she was so slow.
She said she wanted to make a dress,
And she really did need one, I guess.
She bought too much material and not enough thread.
Said she would use hemming tape instead.
She got dark green stripe for the shirt
and bright red plaid for the skirt.
Her scissors were dull and her needle was bent.
Just think of all the money she spent.
She sewed the pockets on up side down
And just sat there with an ugly frown.
She put puckers where gathers should be.
With a tear in her eye, she said, this dress won’t fit me.
I told her, just never mind,
This dress would always be one of a kind.
I guess I’ll just clean out the shop.
Put the broom in the closet and hang up the mop.
I’ll walk out the door and pull down the blind.
Now she is the one that needs to get off her behind.
Now this is the end of the story, although it is sad.
Our names are the same and we still love each other
And for that I am glad.