Ham in a can*

Last night, shortly after I arrived home from an excellent weekend with other people’s teenagers, my own came home. Soon I noticed a canned ham on the counter.

“Hey, R., what’s with the canned ham?”

“Dad sent it. And by the way, this isn't a zit on my nose. It's a second, smaller nose.”

"I was wondering when your second nose would start coming in. Why did Dad send the ham?”

“Because his girlfriend brought it from Oregon where she’s cleaning out the house of a dead person. And of course, she and Dad are both vegetarians.”

Okay, let’s back up just a second and say that I hope I don’t seem like the kind of person who wants to eat canned ham (ever), but I must say I was intrigued to be the recipient of a canned ham donated by my ex-husband’s girlfriends’ dead customer. The ham, alas, expired in 1991, which may explain why it wasn’t donated to a food bank. Should I just get the cats? Truth, please.  Because this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened.

And alas, so much material from the weekend with 30 middle school people, but I probably shouldn't write about that. I will confess that I have a huge crush on Port Townsend, and would move there in an instant if I had a job, house, no kids to consider, friends, and it didn't require leaving all my freaky obsessions. Other than that, I'm there.


  1. I'm just wondering if the thing on Rs nose is as big as a canned ham.

  2. The second nose is slightly smaller than a canned ham, but I don't think it has expired yet.

  3. Do you realize that getting rid of the ham in an earth-friendly manner means you have to open it, put the ham in the compost, and then wash out the ham can so it can go into recycle? Ew. But there is something funny about the sound of "canned ham," so that's good.

  4. Jeez, Bets, I'm unloading lots of things lately but I can safely say none is a canned ham. Maybe the food bank?? Ugly.

  5. Do not open, throw immediately in to the yard of the neighbors to the north. Maybe, just maybe, you'll hit their cat. I mean, accidentally, hit their cat.

  6. I would love to read the "material" that came from the weekend in PT, but I probably shouldn't ask about that.

  7. Betsy, I see your ex-husband's girlfriend's dead customer's ham, and I raise you an ex-husband's girlfriend's dead brother's couch.

    Here's the scenario: I'm at my former home, now my ex-husband and girlfriend's home, on some brief piece of business or other. He opens the garage door, from behind which I'd noticed a whirring sound. The garage is filled with belongings of the dead brother of his girlfriend (<--yes, the family friend he'd left me for). The brother had died alone in his house, and unfortunately the body had not been discovered for some time. I will spare you the grisly details, however, the whirring sound was an ozone generator meant to remove all smells from the furniture. My ex-husband gives me a brief tour of the belongings, and we stop in front of the leather couch. He bends down to take a whiff of it and says, "Hey, smell this couch." Which I do, gawd help me. As I am sniffing it, he asks "Does this couch still smell like dead guy?"

    And it was at that moment, Betsy, that I realized two things: 1) I am entirely too accommodating and 2) by initiating that divorce, the former family friend/current girlfriend had actually done me an immense favor.

    Thank you and your ham for reminding me of this stunning moment of clarity, which I will now attempt to re-bury for perpetuity.


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