Enjoy Wry & Relatable Humor That Pokes Fun At Everyday Life
SUSAN’S UNFILTERED WIT
Observations about life from the far side of the hill
Susan started writing when she discovered, in retirement, that she looked terrible in golf clothes and canasta had way too many rules. Looking for something personally meaningful to do that did not require wearing polo shirts, she enrolled in a class for fledging writers. Not quite ready to tackle the great American novel, she began to write short, witty essays about life from the perspective of “a woman of a certain age.”
Deciding that the world needed another Erma Bombeck and\or Nora Ephron, with a bit of Andy Rooney thrown in for good measure, she went public. Susan created her blog, now called Susan’s Unfiltered Wit, where she continues to entertain her generation of pre-baby boomers and beyond with new posts twice a month.
Is it Something I Said?
No, it’s not! Full disclosure. I DID NOT write the following essay. I was speaking to my partner-in-crime, the person who helps me clutter your inbox once a month, and bemoaning the fact that I was running out of ideas. Over the past 12 years, I have succeeded in raising kvetching to an art form, but I was indeed running out of material. “How can I complain when there’s nothing left to complain about,” I whined, borrowing the title from my second book of essays. I don't do politics and my family, except for my husband, is off limits. Appreciating
Is it Something I Said?
No, it’s not! Full disclosure. I DID NOT write the following essay. I was speaking to my partner-in-crime, the person who helps me
Words I Never Want to Hear Again in 2025!
Spoiler alert: I griped about this very same topic a couple of years ago, but apparently no one was listening! I’m still hearing
Hard to Swallow
Have you missed me in your in-box? Even if you didn’t notice or were relieved to have one less email to delete, I’d
Tune-Up Time
Dear Readers: In the event that anyone actually noticed, I want to apologize for my absence during August. I was not
The Oys of Summer
It occurred to me the other day, as I gratefully entered an air-conditioned space, that I hate summer. Maybe it’s global warming, or
Sweat and the City
It’s summer 2024 and this genetically predisposed city kid is once again happily roaming Manhattan’s upper west side, walking Sam the dog, and
Impeachment Fever
For a time, I was really worried. My observation of some agitated Congress persons was leading me to believe that a new strain
The List, Redux
Exactly seven years ago, following an incident involving my husband and the whereabouts of fresh garbage bags in our kitchen, it occurred to