Blog #65
I’m back. And
so, apparently, are you, so let’s get started.
I came home the other day and was met by my lovely wife. We started to compare stories of the day, but
after ten seconds her phone rang. She
answered it, said “Hold on” to whoever it was, and looked at me. You see, I like talking to my wife. I like to tell her about the people I have
met or how my tutoring went or how many times I took the wrong exit on the
highway. What I hate most is getting
shoved aside by a phone call from one of her over-talkative friends. You know who you are. She recognized my feeling and started to tell the caller she’d call back. But instead, she looked at me and asked, “Are
you going to clean up?” Clean
up? Did I look dirty? Well, I knew how to translate that simple
question after five decades of marriage.
Are you going to clean up?
translates to, “I
really would rather talk to this person than you, but I know you don’t like it,
so if you have something to do, do it now.”
Welcome back everyone.
I hope you are well today. If you
have read even a small sample of these blogs, you know that I talk about my
wife a lot and that I sometimes pick on her.
Making fun of your wife is as old as Adam and Eve.
“She’s
always nagging at me, God -- something about those damned apples. She probably thinks an apple a day keeps the
Devil away. Women! And now she wants
clothes! Clothes? Who needs
clothes? And she wants to know on what
day You’re going to create flip flops. Her feet hurt. Plus, she thinks You’re a woman. Seriously, God? What were You thinking? You
could have just created three other guys and a golf course”
Making fun of my wife is often humorous because you,
as the reader, can recognize some of yourself or your spouse in the story. Let’s do it some more. It appears that Carol knows the amount and
location of every edible morsel in the house.
I firmly believe she weighs the
Cheerios, counts the nuts and marks the level in the milk carton. She knows everything! Last week when she had dinner out with friends,
she came home, spent four seconds in the kitchen and said, “So you ate the chicken parmesan
leftovers. Then you had two m&m
peanuts – a red and a yellow.” Damn,
I hate it when she’s right!
But although I make fun
of her, you all know I would do anything for her, even clean up when I wasn’t
dirty just so she could yabber with her friends. You still know who you are. Or give her my socks. We went to a movie and Carol reached into her
purse for a pair of hospital socks to keep her feet warm. You must have some of those, don’t you? They’re the ones with rubber on the bottom so
when you walk around in the hospital you won’t slip and break something that
you haven’t broken already. I love long
sentences. She has at least one pair of every color of these socks, and the sad
truth is that she got them all from the various times I was in the hospital.
“How do you feel? When are you getting out? Grab me a few pairs of
socks.
I like pink.” But when she
searched at the movie, she realized she had forgotten socks so I removed mine
and handed them to her. Is that love or
what? I have a warm heart. And cold feet.
I have been tutoring at
the jail for three or four years now, and I have a weird idea. You may have noticed that I am overflowing
with weird ideas. This one involves the
inmates participating in an exhibition of their talents. No, not breaking and entering -- singing and
dancing. There must be a lot of talent
among the prison population. We could
have a show and call it Broadway
Felonies or something. Or maybe
a game show like Let’s Make A Plea
Deal or You Bet Your Life
Sentence. Or maybe we’ll just do
a talent show. We’ll call it So You Think You Can Sing Sing.
2018 is an Election Year,
and I’m already nauseous. It’s only
June, but with primaries and special elections and pre-election character
assassinations – well, watching television is no fun anymore. The late-night shows have nothing but
political ads and commercials for male enhancement pills.
Now
all those commercials I viewed
Have
totally soured my mood
They’re
all for elections
Or
pills for erections
And,
Man, either way you get screwed.
I have a great line that I use at the Zoo when one of
the big snakes, the anaconda or a boa constrictor, is not on exhibit. “Where’s the snake,” some little
urchin asks. “It’s got reptile dysfunction,” I
tell them.
I went to a program where my 4th grader,
Charley did a short presentation followed by similar presentations from the
rest of her class. Yes, Charley is a
girl. It’s impossible to tell gender
from the names nowadays. Besides which,
mothers are trying to outdo each other by creating names no-one has ever had
before. The
pattern I discovered is that it doesn’t matter what you name your child as long
as you spell it wrong. Here are a few
examples from the program: Lauryn, Abbe, Maddisson, Cayleigh, Madysen,
Xzavier, Jaxson, Zoie, Destinee.
I think I’m going to change my name to Mycull. Now that’s
catchy!
“Hey, God. It’s Adam again. That woman you made just gathered some fruit
and wants me to ask if You have a round table.
There’s only two of us on the whole planet and she thinks she needs a
reservation! Oh, and she wants it not
too near the serpent. Jesus Christ! Oh, You like that, God? That Jesus Christ thing? I just made it up. You like it so much, you’re going to name Your
Son that? Now that’s catchy.”
Ok, it’s about time for
me to get hit by lightning. I’ll see you
next week. Count your blessings and stay
well. Do you think I’m in trouble with
God now? Maybe I should change my name.
No comments:
Post a Comment