Recalling so many gaffes

This column is about bone?head moves and gaffes I have made in my lifetime. I have always wanted to use the word ?gaffe? because it has a nice sound to it.

One of those gaffes happened in the wee hours of Sunday morning this past weekend.


I was really tired Satur?day night, so I went to bed early and that was the first mistake: I usually wake up early as well when I do that. But at 3:15 a.m.?

I laid awake for a while, then had a horrible thought. It was Monday morning in my mind and the Buyer?s Edge was due at the printer at 10 p.m. Sunday night and I hadn?t finished it yet.

So I jumped up to my computer and finished it and sent it. Then I got my cell phone and went into the closet and shut the door so I wouldn?t wake Nancy when I called the printer to make sure everything was OK.

No one answered both times I called and I really panicked then. Why was no one there?

It wasn?t until later in the day when I got up the second time that I realized it was Sunday, not Mon?day.


Later, when I went out to get the Sunday newspaper off the driveway, I had my keys in the same hand as the bag of trash I was going to drop into the trash cart.

It took a while after I went back into the apartment to figure out I had thrown my keys away in the process.


Recently, I put an ice cream carton in the refrigerator instead of the freezer. Not a good thing to do. For some reason, ice cream doesn?t like that.


When Dan was in high school, we spent quite a bit of time working on his Pontiac Firebirds. We had decided to replace the front suspension on one of those cars. I was working by myself in the garage when it was about 10 degrees outside one Saturday.

In the process, I almost chopped off my fingers replacing the front coil springs. I had used a jack to spread the arm that held the spring to get it loose?and something slipped.

I had my hands and fingers where they probably shouldn?t have been and thought they were gone. Luckily, there was just enough clearance to pull them out.


While in high school, I attempted to replace the crankshaft in my car. Not knowing any better, I covered the oil holes on the crankshaft in my 1956 Plymouth. It only took 25 miles for the rods to start knocking again.


While we were living in Lawrence back in the ?70s, my hours at the printing service were from 5 a.m. to 1 p.m., so I had the afternoons for a second job.

I was doing followup for the Census Bureau in To?peka when I put my papers on top of the car and drove away from an appointment, scattering the many pages all over creation.

If you wish to share your comments or ideas, my e-mail address is

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