No Chocolate Eggs?

Happy Easter!

Did you hear they closed down See's Chocolate Shops right before Easter?

Oh, no. What are we supposed to do?

Don’t you know, Eve wrote three books and she's working on a fourth? 

Let’s read!  Do we need to wear a mask?

No silly rabbit, you can read her books at home.

Which one should we read first?

Well, there’s Penniless Hearts about an artist who gets lost in Hawaii.

Hawaii? Are there pineapples?

I think so. The second one is Penniless Souls about the same lady in Vegas.

Ooh, I bet that’s intriguing.

Bunnies don’t bet.

What’s the last one called?

The Fifth Commandment. It’s perfect for Easter, 'cause Peter's in the story.

Peter Rabbit?

Peter at the gates of Heaven.

Oh, he’s more important.

I’ll say.

Where do we get these books?

Amazon.

Yikes, we have to hop down to the Amazon?

(Eye-roll) Amazon delivers books to your home.

Oh good, race ya to the couch!

Holiday Greetings from Pinky Claus

Mommy told me to say ho, ho, ho instead of ruff, ruff and ruff. And since the mailman isn’t here yet, I’ll be quiet. Ruff or not, this has been a rough year. Get it?

Anyway, she made this silly hat, and thought I should model it for all the world to see. Isn’t that hilarious? I can count her blog followers on one paw. It’s not like she’s some sort of 'influencer'. Do you think I listen to her? Hardly, ever. But it’s the holidays and the area around my heart is filled with gas and something called unconditional love. So, here I am in the hat. (Small shout out to my online friends Agatha and Winston who are probably dying of laughter. Wish we could sniff each other. If you want to meet them click here:)

The stuff mom’s been passing off as health food sucks. Plus, dad tries to sneak in some gross liver pill. Everything they eat smells better than the stuff in my bowl. It’s so unfair. When I beg for a scrap, they give me a pat on the head telling me I’m cute. Liars! How can I believe them? I’m losing weight and they still won’t make me a rib-eye steak!

Well, as I mentioned above, this past year has been an obstacle course. Not just for me, but for all of us. I’m tired of it. Especially that vet place where the other patients look big and mean like they want to eat me. Sorry, I’m still having flashbacks regarding my little sister who met a big mean dog near the park. (Very sad story but she’s at some rainbow place.) Mom says I have a dog version of PTSD. Personally, I think she does. I cheer her up with licks.

I’m even boycotting my tennis ball. She throws it, and I watch as it lands on the grass, and for some strange reason I think it looks nice sitting right there on the lawn. Guess my bones don’t feel like running and lunging anymore. Man, I used to be hyper. I’d dash around the house like a racehorse and jump onto the dining room table looking for leftover morsels. At least I still have energy to yell at that mailman. And, with any luck I’ll still be slinking around here next year at this time.  Meanwhile, I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday filled with fabulous belly rubs and the awesome snacks from my dreams. 

Wishing all of you the Happiest, most joyous New Year ever! 

A Plethora of Roosters or a Peep of Chickens?

Not a flight of swallows or a murder of crows--not a siege of herons or a gaggle of geese....

Nor an exaltation of larks or a dole of doves but perhaps a plethora of roosters....

A month ago, we had a few roosters decorating our kitchen. I have this idea that the rooster is an image of forgiveness. So much so, that I wrote a short book about it, called The Fifth Commandment. In my short novella, rooster symbolism abounds. If you haven’t read it, then please click here.

Originally, we had one big rooster on the top shelf that my husband painted, and two old ones on the second shelf.  Both of the smaller ones were gifts. Then, at the end of July, my artistic friend Melodie gave me a gray, wooden hen. She painted it with, what now I believe, are alluring red flowers. Guess these roosters saw her coming, because a few days later my kitchen underwent a transformation.

See that gray hen on the right?

Within a couple of days--as if they spent every night awake--they reproduced! (Another friend brought us a box teeming with feathered fowl.) Now, I have an entire farm of roosters and every time I glance up at that shelf, I wonder.
What just happened? 
Does this mean I'm forgiven? 

Inspired by the President and Hemingway

Our illustrious Commander in Chief has inspired me to try a new marketing campaign for building my platform and increasing followers. Figure I'd jump on the proverbial bandwagon and find out what all the fuss is about. I mean, if he can tweet, then so can I. 

(Take a breath here--because my Tweets won't have anything to do with those tweets.)

 I’ll be sharing uplifting and inspiring quotes written by famous people and since I’m fairly good at writing one-liners, I’ll be sharing my sense of humor through short, silly jokes or witty remarks with the main purpose of making people smile. For free. There' no hidden agenda other than I wouldn't mind having more twittering friends. (And if you want to re-use something I wrote, please give me credit for writing it.)

My thinking is that since Twitter’s all a-flutter with high anxiety--thought I’d try the happiness approach--thereby creating more interest in my writing--naturally generating more blog readers. And who knows? Maybe I will receive some financial gravy as in book sales and writing assignments too. It can't hurt to try, right?

Although I’ve used Twitter for years, it never seemed like a serious place for an author. After all, what writer wants to be limited to 140 characters? Oh wait scratch that-- I guess Hemingway could have posted his six-word bestseller: 

  “For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.”

Anyway, follow me at Eve@Eve Gaal for some comic relief. When I can’t come up with anything funny, then it will be a serious quote like the one I just posted on Twitter from one of our greatest Presidents-Abraham Lincoln: “Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing."

Do you use Twitter? How does it help you? 

I Want 007 Pants-(A Fashion Post)

I have a gripe about pants. I figured a blog post is a great way to vent about any politically correct subject as long as there’s at least a semblance of humor involved. So here’s my droll scoop about personal issues with length, fit and fashion.

Length

First of all, I’m tall and most women’s pants have a 29” inseam which is average but 32” would ideally hit me at the ankle. Sometimes I see tall-fitting pants for sale in catalogs but they begin at 34” which would be nice if I wanted to wear high heels all the time with my jeans. Unfortunately, that’s not my style and the tall ones are usually in smaller sizes anyway. Most of the pants I own look like cropped pants or what my old high school ‘friends’ called ‘flood waders.” Basically, I have a love-hate relationship with pants because it’s one of those articles of clothing that an active lifestyle necessitates. Plus, I love adventures. Women wear pants for fishing, hiking, bike riding and campaigning for President. After seventeen years into a new century, modern women don’t even own dresses or skirts anymore. Type ‘wedding pantsuit’ into a Google search and you wouldn’t believe the heavenly white ensembles that exist.

 I think pants can look fabulous on women Ala Katherine Hepburn but they should also be flexible without being tight and uncomfortable. In a warm climate, most polyester blended fabrics are much too hot and in winter, twill or denim isn’t warm or flexible enough. Is it asking too much that I want to look nice while chasing after two disobedient Chihuahuas?

Fashion

Fashion wise, the current trend for women is the skinny look which works great if you’re ah—skinny. Some of these pants are cut so narrow, that they wouldn’t even fit my meatless skeleton. If I can pull them on, there’s a rustling sound with each step. Sadly, unless I want to take up Zydeco and pretend I’m playing the washboard, I also have to forget about corduroy. Of course, there are loose-fitting linen pants that look wrinkled all the time or chinos which are like like a cross between jeans and khakis. If they don’t fit right, then they look like Park Ranger-Government Issue pants. Too tight and you’ll feel like you’re back in high school marching band needing a new uniform after having a growth spurt. For extreme casual wear, there’s the yoga pant that looks good in one color only and that’s black. Same with leggings—have you ever seen beige colored leggings on a heavy-set woman? There are some things I wish I could “unsee.”

Fit

This brings me to how pants fit. Men can get away with wearing khaki pants that are loose and baggy. Modestly covering everything, they look perfect on busy dads who need to be able to move with even busier toddlers. Generally, men want to make sure their jeans are not riding too high and by pulling them lower they are baggier in the thighs and the hem reaches the floor. Problems arise because most men don’t have hips to hold up their pants. This is why they wear belts or should wear belts anyway. When men wear business or military slacks in gray, green or navy, the fit is classic, slightly loose and elegant. And finally, there’s the sophisticated tuxedo pant which reminds us of Cary Grant or Fred Astaire.

Those have to be stretchy pants!

I just had one of those aha moments. Remember how Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly and even Jimmy Stewart were dancing in tailored tuxedo pants? James Bond is jumping out of an airplane or swinging from a chandelier in a Monte Carlo casino while kicking the bejeebers out of the bad guys. Jason Statham springs from his BMW sunroof and is punching five guys at once while looking awesome in Armani. The mystery must be a form of Hollywood costume finery just like those used by Jack Black in the movie Nacho Libre. Lycra—also known as spandex, was invented in the late fifties, which could explain some of the magic but still leaves me wondering how Rhett tried saving Atlanta before such obviously awesome stretchy pants were ever created.

 Lucky for me, I’m not a slave to fashion and enjoy wearing dresses too. Perfect slacks? Maybe not for my body-type but I can dream, while wearing an old-fashioned skirt. 

Any ideas about what kind of fabric goes into one James Bond suit before it's shaken and stirred?

We Have a Leak!

We’re Not Quackiott, Duckyatt, Billton or Even the Web-foot Inn.

The ducks are back and Fiona’s not happy about it. I’m writing this upstairs and can hear warfare in the yard. I hear her tiny growl perhaps saying, “What a bleeping mess you make all over my warm stones.” She hates them and treats them like terrorists even though they look like they outweigh her by a pound or two. “Be gone you dastardly, disgusting creatures,” she squeaks. Or maybe she’s displeased because they interrupt her beauty naps, so she responds with a Garbo-esque bark that means, “I vant to be alone.”

The fine-looking ducks swim a few laps and as soon as Fiona noses over to where they are drying off, they rustle up, into the air, over the fence, landing with a splash in someone else’s pool--but not before quacking loudly--voicing their obvious displeasure at such a lack of hospitality. You’d think a rescued pup would have more manners!

I'm scared to bother her so I took this picture from inside.

The sun is setting but she's still on watch

 Maybe, I hopefully surmise, Fiona is working with the pool-cleaning company to make sure the water stays sparkling clean. I wouldn’t put it past her to take a bribe now and then. There’s probably a method to her madness and she doesn’t really care whether I’ve figured it out. After all, one of my nicknames for her lately has been “Special Ops.” While our other dog Pinky, is an exemplary example of a Secret Service type who would take a bullet for his/her management team and pounces out of bed in the middle of the night if someone is within ten feet of our home, Fiona prefers secret spying gigs, sleeping soundly under the blanket all night, perhaps gathering information telepathically from wireless, unnamed sources. Pinky worries about rabbits, but that’s another story. I guess Fiona saves her energy to fight the radical ducks.

Five Ridiculous but Slightly Stressful Things to Smile About

With the recent turmoil, the earthquakes and politicos going off the deep end, my heart suggested I keep my thoughts quiet until things get better. Unfortunately, things aren’t lightening up too much—it’s as if Les Miz is playing out on the six o’clock news-- every day. Meanwhile, we have blogs, stories and books to write and someday publish. For some strange reason, the world won’t stop so I can get off and be emotional. Must be why so many have signed up for a one-way ticket to Mars and I keep finding humor in the painfully mundane. Examples:

1.       At the end of the day.—Almost every television personality, interviewer and interviewee uses this transitioning phrase in their dialogue. Last week we went to a real estate conference to learn about house flipping and yes, the speaker kept saying it was the end of the day and obviously, I began to yawn. (And no, we’re not interested in house flipping but I always like to learn things, such as quick ways to find my inner snore.) Meteorologists, Presidential candidates, comedians, talk show hosts, sports announcers—everyone says it! When my doctor said it, I almost flipped out. If you haven’t noticed this unusual trend, you will now. Sorry.

2.       What do you think about that auto commercial indicating in large type that those are real people, not actors? I’m sure they realize how silly that is but it’s starting to bug me, even though I’m aware some actors are aliens.

3.       We love listening to classical radio on the weekends and every Saturday morning the announcer comes on to interview some violin player--or he or she chats about some movie music for hours. Don’t they realize we’re listening to their station for music, not Talk radio? Blah, blah, blah, we switch it off and stream YouTube. Does anyone still listen to the radio?

4.       When we’re in the car and we’re listening to a rock station and a car ad comes on about leasing a car for $199 but right when you think it’s finished, the spokesman continues on a super fast tirade of all the stuff he has to disclose in ten seconds. Of course, he’s reading so fast there’s no way anyone in the world could understand any of it but the car dealer feels he’s covered all his bases. As someone who spent hours writing automotive ad copy for newspapers, I think this might not be honest. Is it just me?

5.       So you pull into the driveway, go inside and decide to pop a frozen pie in the oven. The box actually says, “Remove plastic before baking.” Your hands become fists before you preheat the oven. You control yourself for a few minutes, jump up and down and inhale deeply before your cells divide and you know you’re about to blow a fuse.

At the end of the day, you’re tired of everyone treating you like you’re stupid and you scream at anyone who will listen about how insensitive that frozen food company must be if they have to tell other, senseless people not to cook the plastic wrap with the pie.

 But you aren’t senseless, are you? You pay taxes and count your blessings. You're not a victim! Why blame the pie? Breathe, turn on the radio. “You have nothing to fear, nothing to hide!”

(2 minute clip from Les Miserables)

Sister Scrooge on Christmas Eve

       They both raced to the velvet chaise next to their parent’s bed. "Goodnight girls. Sweet dreams." Daddy had taken them outside and covered them for the night. It felt like the North Pole. Bitter cold winds swept around the house and the temperature took a dive into something Californians typically only see in fancy, French-doored Sub-Zero refrigerators—something resembling popsicles.

Summer days in the window(Fiona up close and Pinky)

Getting comfortable when it's cold is generally difficult for Chihuahuas. They aren't used to cold weather and even with pink sweaters, their ears and toes feel icy.  

Walking with Mommy-- wearing coats

  

"Move over or I'm telling Mom!" Pinky whined. “Tomorrow’s Christmas and we have to be good!” 

"Bah humbug," Fiona mumbled, as she sprawled her matchstick legs behind her as far as they would go. A complete and utter Scrooge, her adorable face and diminutive physique didn’t automatically make her sweet. “All you ever want are treats and more treats,” she said with a haughty tone. “The only reason you want to be good is so you can get more snacks. Will you ever stop being a slob?”

 "For an itty-bitty thing you sure are nasty!” Pinky made a sad face, accidentally pulling part of the covers off Fiona.

"You are a moron. Why don’t you shut up or grow up? For goodness sake, aren’t you like seventy-seven in human years?" Fiona grunted. "Go to sleep and leave me alone.” She buried her face into the soft comforter and closed her eyes.

After a long day of home inspections, kitchen floor cleanups and all around holiday excitement, Pinky was tired too. Outweighing Fiona by at least fifteen pounds wasn't enough to give Pinky the upper hand. In fact, Fiona was in charge of everything and it wasn't fair. 

This is their large and spacious bed

 Using her nose, she pushed Fiona's skinny legs aside and plopped onto the green chaise. A few minutes later, the tinier Chihuahua re-positioned herself under the covers. Pinky didn't want to complain but a small growl attracted Mommy who came to make sure they were properly covered. First, she wanted to take a peek at her two naughty pups. To her delight, she found Fiona's head resting on Pinky's patient haunches. 

“Aren’t you two the cutest? Merry Christmas,” she whispered. We’ll have sleighs full of fun tomorrow. After turning off the light, she listened to the wind howling in the yard and wondered whether it might snow. And as the light of the full moon crept under the window shades, she thanked God for all her blessings--even the furry, four-legged ones--now sleeping like angels.... 

Grateful, Overstuffed Hearts

Good and Bad Stuffing

A poem by Eve Gaal

(Note: Little bit of silly word play for Thanksgiving:

 Each line as two words that sound the same but....)

Listen to rap while wrapping.

Bake date bread before dating.

Buy a wok after walking.

Lie down-- hear lies.

See from ocean to sea,

males rarely send mail.

Sew your dress-- find it isn’t so.

Frosted tiers,--shedding tears,

Unfazed-- enter a phase.

No--means knowing.

Dye your hair—you’re not prepared to die.

Hear the hymn-- listen to Him,

head to sole into your soul.

By and large you buy it,

By casting nets—earn a role in the cast.

Harpoon a whale while wailing.

Box out of a box--

a major feat but you land on your feet.

Do the unthinkable--kneel on morning dew.

Pray for the preyed upon.

You are not the ewe in the meadow.

Write about everything being right,

the open chutes are shooting,

weigh your options-- find your way--

like a soldier in the corps--injured to the core.

One who wins and has won.

Ready for round two— maybe three and four too,

Life's not easy but great and you’re grate-ful!

This turkey is filled with
 gratitude instead of stuffing!

The Scandalous Fiona

Down South in sunny California

Lives a princess with oodles of attitude,

part Chihuahua, part muse, her name: Fiona.

It’s absolutely no secret she prefers going nude.

Forget the fancy collars the frou-frou clothes

disgusted by training snacks, expensive toys.

Cute as a fawn from head to her toes,

Her ears take in every single noise.

To top it off she’s rather stuck up--

Ceremoniously carry her downstairs ala palanquin,

Unlike most dogs, hardly a pup,

Cuddle too hard, she bursts into fits.

Too many kisses make her want to flee.

Upon hand-embroidered European pillows she sits,

Like a Monarch with a pedigree--

Until it’s time to pee.

Labor Day Campaigners

Press Release:

(Southern California)Two female candidates recently announced their candidacy and are running for President on a special third party ticket called the Sniffocrats. With so many on the Ruffandfluffican ticket they decided on veering into un-soiled territory where the law of the land begins with dog-walking and ends with treats.

 By entering the race, they have found a great deal of support among certain groups including: most dog bloggers, animal rights activists, meat packers, pet store owners, puppy obedience trainers, groomers, flea shampoo manufacturers, K9 officers, drug sniffing dogs, guide dogs and anonymous cat haters.

 That's a large, formidable group of voters! 

With a proud Hispanic heritage and natural cuteness, these very American Chihuahuas are sure to win the race. 

Keep your eyes on Pinky and Fiona and watch their pawl numbers rise in the coming months!

PAID FOR BY DESERT ROCKS CREATIVE MEDIA

 & NON-POLITICAL STRATEGIES

                                                    Happy Labrador Day, whoops,
                                               we mean Happy Labor Day Everyone!

Fishy Programming and Meatballs

Grandmothers know when something’s fishy and my television smells like something washed up at the Salton Sea. Whatever it is, don’t eat it, buy it or vote for it. Sounds cynical but there’s hope. After all, a kitchen offers comfort when our world, which consists of beloved television programs and news stories, jumps like Shamu the killer whale into the deep end. Don’t quote me, but ask your grandmother where she hung out during Watergate and she’ll probably say the kitchen. My grams made the best cookies back then. Last week, there were ten ingredients in front of me and I figured it’s time to make meatballs. I’m not talking about oregano, ground turkey, eggs, breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, onions, garlic powder, paprika and ketchup. Certain ingredients compliment each other as in—ten debatable politicians with various levels of spiciness, inspiring me to make meatballs. I mean those guys were hilarious. Whether baked, fried or covered with sauce, picking one for the white house would be like getting Jay Leno back again. Years and years of free entertainment and funny jokes making us laugh. Out loud even. Heaven forbid.

Google images:http://www.couponclippingcook.com

So I changed the station, but came across that show about the male Olympian who is now a glamorous model and his well-seated relatives. What can you say about that show without upsetting someone? How about, I loved her dress but thought she looked better in running shorts. Must be me but I think she’d make a pretty nice candidate. She could get the female voters AND the guys too. Okay, I’ll flip to another station.

 But, what’s with war? Cupcake wars, pawnshop wars, realty wars and cooking wars—just to name a few. Scanning the cable guide makes you want to duck for cover and check your ammo supply. Speaking of hunters, there are Alaskan hunters, storage hunters, house hunters and some clowns hunting Big Foot. In the middle of all this is a commercial of a waddling duck spewing stuff about insurance. You almost find yourself wondering if the little guy is safe. Cute little duck should watch out and get some of that insurance in case he comes across those dynasty guys. That quack makes me think he’s hungry and wants some fish. Insurance can be a fishy subject.  

 Television is already aggressive and the campaigns are still in their infantile mode. Slowly, they’ll crawl onto land telling us why they paid for certain messages. The station managers will repeat those messages over and over until you grab your remote, tossing it above your widescreen, or into it. The alternative is you are hypnotized into believing in fairy-tales and you click on the Cartoon Network or run blabbering for refuge and screaming for Grams. For her sake, I hope she’s in Florida shredding cookie recipes and going deep-sea fishing out of the Everglades. Meanwhile, the election coverage will be interspersed between combat reports about real wars. It will be time to hide in the kitchen and dig into a large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. Bon Appetit!

Google images:http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/ultimate-spaghetti-meatballs

Gambling on The Odds and Challenging Myself

Different jokes for different folks. As you know, it takes a lot to make certain people smile. To be honest, some of these didn't test well with my beta audience. Hey, I am still working on my humor writing--but with so much going on in the world-- bottom line--it's been a tough year. If you grin, laugh or snort please let me know in the comments. Your gracious support and white lies are appreciated.

This first joke was tested on the audience at

 Humor Writer's of America and received two likes. Well at least one.

Two marshmallows walk into a bar.

The first one asks the bartender for chocolate.

The second one asks for graham crackers.

(Bartender keeps chocolate on hand for fancy cocktails and happens to have graham crackers hidden way in the back—but that’s another story. Right now, he’s pissed and wants to throw these two troublemakers out, but it’s a hot summer day and they already look a bit charred.

Anyway, when they’re finished eating they both say, “Give me somemore!” “Smore!!”

 ...badaboombadabing....

True story:

Divorce Attorney: When did you begin to feel resentment?”

Man: That horrible day we were married.

Divorce Attorney has a surprised look on his face. “Huh?”

Man: She made me wear a mint green tuxedo!”

...moving on.... 

True Story:

“Hey, I hear you got a divorce-- thought you liked being married to a magician.”

“Nah, his best trick was making me disappear.”

True Story:

My ankle biter is smarter than your chihuahua.

No, she’s not.

Yes, she is. She knows her ABCs.

A for Arf, arf, arf.

B for Bark, bark Bark

and C is for Chomp, chomp, chomp. Oops.Told ya!

...customer service....

True Story:

A man calls Victoria Secret to order his wife an anniversary gift.

“Excuse me but I’d like to order that negligee in your catalog.”

“Which page sir?”

“Page four--the one with the anorexic teenager.”

That’s a supermodel.

“Wonderful! My wife is also a super model.”

“Really?”

Well I work for Boeing Ma’am and I call her my Super, model C-17.

C-17? Isn’t that a giant cargo plane?

Yes Ma’am.

He can hear her type into the computer.

Here we are; that nightie comes in pink, blue or yellow.

I’ll take pink.

What size?

Do you have XXXXXXXXXXL?

No sir. Our XL fits up to a roomy size 8. If she’s larger than an 8, we can’t help you.

Figures. Thanks for nothin'.

Don't blame me. Sounds like she needs a hangar. 

Hanger?

No, a hangar. Call the airport.

    

Bad Puns:

Did you hear about the guy working at the textile mill?

No, what about him?

He dyed.

That’s like the guy at the paper bag factory.

Is he still around?

Nope, he got sacked.

Or the man at the soap factory--guy had an excuse for everything.

What about him?

They caught him in the lye.

Knock Knock Jokes

True Story-Abbott and Costello style.

Knock, knock

Who’s there?

Share

Share who?

Like the one who loved Sonny.

That was Cher.

That’s what I said.

No, you said Share.

So, why don’t you?

Why don’t I what?

Share some of your cake and let me in.

But I don’t know you. Who are you?

I said, my name is Cher.

How do you know I have cake?

Because the door said bakery.

Well we don’t have any.

Why not?

We bake them to order.

Well it’s an order. Bake.

Get lost!!!

One more:

I drew this for a children's story
 I've worked on for years.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Owl?

Owl Who?

Owl bet you’re bored of my jokes.

Well, if you stayed awake and reached this point you're officially either a good, patient friend or a person who loves silly jokes. Perhaps you have nothing better to do today and you picked my humble little blog from among the competition. I feel very special. Whatever the reason, thanks for reading, enduring and commenting on my post and I hope something here made you laugh, at least making your lips turn upward a skoosh. Thanks for visiting!

Mignons or Minions? Naughty or Nice?

NICE

When we were kids and mom took us to a bakery, they had these small pastries called mignons. (Pronounced just like the Despicable Me characters, only tastier.) Today they have assorted petit fours, cupcakes and cannoli’s but the variety is limited. These are not cookies or rugalach but dainty little creations decorated with fruit, infused with rum or filled with layers of vanilla, chocolate or coffee cream. Not just any cream but almond cream, hazelnut puree, tart lemon curd or scrumptious custard. Sometimes frosted or glazed, topped with chopped walnuts or sprinkles—these irresistible confections made your mouth water just looking at them and the hardest part was picking out your favorite while the lady behind the counter smiled at your mother. There was always a line and you had to hurry. If I took too long, then mom would say, “Oh these right here in the front are fine. Aren’t they dear?” And of course, they were more than fine. Still, it was fun to select my own because these were not everyday luxuries. Oh no. Buying mignons corresponded with my father’s promotion or perhaps a visit from a distant relative. Choosing the right ones was a serious task because this was a rare occasion. Once home, we unwrapped the days purchases and there on our humble, green-tiled kitchen counter sat the glorious pink box tied with string. Nestled inside on fluted, white paper cups were small pieces of heaven waiting to create a delectable memory. There was absolutely nothing naughty about them....

NAUGHTY

Those delicious creations were nothing like these cheeky new movie-star minions.

Strange that they are yellow and naughty like my very own personal, four-legged minions but I  also noticed these adorable characters don't have ears. And so the connection might end there, except for the constant evil scheming.... 

My rascal-faced minions look like this: 

Pinky and Fiona

Notice the decimated skunk toy under the roguish paws? How about the princess pose, beady eyes and yellow-hued fur? Yup, just as mischievous...and perhaps receiving incoming signals while plotting world domination. Do you see the ears? I am wrapped in their spell and can't get away. What should I do? I need mignons and I need them now!