Blogs

By Jase Graves

In the current climate of political animosity, I should have known better than to write about Worcestershire sauce.

Sure enough, after my most recent column, when I dared to mention that some Americans keep decades-old bottles of Worcestershire sauce in their refrigerators, I was roundly excoriated by a few scandalized readers who sought to educate me on the waste of time, energy and perfectly good greenhouse gasses it is to refrigerate that immortal condiment.

One outraged reader even speculated, "I'll bet you keep your ketchup and mustard in there, too!" followed by an eye-roll emoji.

My only recourse was to admit, "Yes, but that's how I was raised."

Besides, I think ketchup and mustard taste better cold. I can't remember my temperature preference for Worcestershire sauce since I haven't used it since the first Obama administration.

I recently heard someone say that eggs don't need to be refrigerated, either. Incredulous, I googled the issue and discovered that refrigerating eggs is mainly an American phenomenon—probably because that's what God intended.

This whole business about refrigerating condiments got me thinking about other pointless things I do, and I wound up with a list so long that I needed a dose of Extra-Strength Tylenol about halfway through.

For example, I spend an inordinate amount of time brushing our two doglets, hoping they'll be slightly cleaner and look less like disheveled lab rodents. They both loathe the process, and I'm not crazy about it, either. When I call them to be brushed, they take the most circuitous route possible to reach me and then give me forlorn looks like I'm about to execute them one at a time, Old Yeller style. When we're done, their coats actually look sleek and supple-for about 5.8 seconds—until they traumatize the couch cushions or go outside and find something dead to wallow in.

As for my personal grooming, a friend recently convinced me that I needed to apply a daily face lotion containing some kind of acid I can't pronounce. The lotion supposedly nourishes my skin and makes it look more youthful. So far, though, I'm looking more and more like the love child of Keith Richards and that The Muppet Show character, Gonzo—the purple one who dated chickens.

Another huge time waster is my insistence on washing my silver-ish 2013 Ford Expedition regularly. I even have one of those car wash memberships, which means I can have a depressed teenager slosh some dirty mop water on it with a giant toothbrush and run it through the tunnel of exotic suds as many times as I please. Unfortunately, the result is that the vehicle still looks like a dilapidated welding shed on wheels. But at least my curb rash, door dings and bumper dents are spot-free.

Finally, I spend too much time worrying about my three semi-grown daughters. Specifically, I worry about their safety, their happiness, and whether or not they're dating insufferable goobers.  

From now on, though, I plan to give those worries to God and focus on things I can control, like finding the best spot in the refrigerator to store the Worcestershire sauce.

—Jase Graves

Jason (Jase) Graves is a national award-winning humor columnist, a married father of three daughters, a lifelong resident of Longview, Texas, and a Texas A&M Aggie. He writes about home and family issues from a humorous perspective for the Cagle Cartoons syndicate and his blog. Other than writing, his primary hobby is sleeping as late as possible. His winning Nickie’s Prize for Humor Writing essay, “The Sisterhood of the Giggling Rants,” is included in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter, published by the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. His piece, “Victoria’s Worst-Kept Secret,” is included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Crazy Family.