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People are always asking couples whose marriage has endured at least a quarter of a century for their secret for success. Actually, it is no secret at all. I am a forgiving woman. Long ago, I forgave my husband for not being Paul Newman.
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No One Diets on Thanksgiving.
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I didn't fight my way to the top of the food chain to be a vegetarian.
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Family life got better and we got our car back - as soon as we put 'I love Mom' on the license plate.
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A grandmother pretends she doesn't know who you are on Halloween.
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Who in their infinite wisdom decreed that Little League uniforms be white? Certainly not a mother.
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My type of humor is almost pure identification. A housewife reads my column and says, 'But that's happened to ME! I know just what she's talking about!
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Mothers are not the nameless, faceless stereotypes who appear once a year on a greeting card with their virtues set to prose, but women who have been dealt a hand for life and play each card one at a time the best way they know how. No mother is all good or all bad, all laughing or all serious, all loving or all angry. Ambivalence rushes through their veins.
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Housework, if it is done properly, can cause brain damage.
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He who laughs.....lasts.
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Maybe age is kinder to us than we think. With my bad eyes, I can't see how bad I look, and with my rotten memory, I have a good excuse for getting out of a lot of stuff.
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Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.
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When humor goes, there goes civilization.
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My mind works . . . two boobs never get me a job.
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All of a sudden, I feel very old and very tired. Maybe when I get to California, the smog, brush fires, floods, and earthquakes will cheer me up.
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The fact was I didn't want to look my age, but I didn't want to act the age I wanted to look either. I also wanted to grow old enough to understand that sentence.
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A grandparent is the only baby-sitter who doesn't charge more after midnight - or anything before midnight.
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What's with you men? Would hair stop growing on your chest if you asked directions somewhere?
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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.
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I read one psychologist's theory that said, "Never strike a child in your anger." When could I strike him? When he is kissing me on my birthday? When he's recuperating from measles? Do I slap the Bible out of his hand on Sunday?
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Youngsters of the age of two and three are endowed with extraordinary strength. They can lift a dog twice their own weight and dump him into the bathtub.
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You always hear about fashion's success stories. How a starlet lost an earring one night and by the next morning, the entire country was wearing one earring. Or how sweaters made a comeback in a drugstore, or a First Lady influenced how we dressed during her reign. But what about the losers? The fashions that came and went out the same day? The hopes and dreams of designers that were shattered by the sound of fifty million women ... laughing themselves to death.
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Hello there. I'm out social climbing, but if you leave your name and number and if you're anybody, I'll get back to you.
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There is only one thing harder in this world than forgiving. It's to ask forgiveness armed only with, 'I'm sorry'.