With
subtle variations, my day starts off like this:
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, toothpicks holding my eyes open, slurping
down my first cup of coffee, while watching the birds packing it in at our
feeder just outside the window. The
Zen-like tranquility of this quiet, sunny morning is about to be broken.
“Honey,
where are my boxer shorts?”
“In
the drawer, where I’ve been putting them for the last ten years.”
“Which
drawer, though?”
At
this point, I heave a sigh audible on the 50-yard line of the nearest football
stadium, stomp down the hall, open the drawer and hand him his shorts.
“What
would I ever do without you?” he purrs.
“You’d
be pretty chilly,” I reply.
I
go back to my coffee. I have just
resumed my chair, when . . .
“Honey? Where are my loafers?”
“In
the closet.”
“Where
in the closet?”
“On
the floor!”
“I
don’t see them.”
I
pray for restraint and stomp down the hall, yet again, open the closet, bend
down, pick up his shoes, and hand them to him.
“What
would I ever do without you?” he asks again.
Without
me?! I’m starting to question the fact
that he even lives here.
Then
he comes out to breakfast, open the fridge and . . .
“Honey?”
“Yessssssssss?”
“Where’s
the orange juice?”
“It’s
behind the milk.”
“No,
it’s not.”
Grinding
my teeth to nubs, I stomp over to the refrigerator, move the milk aside with a
dramatic sweep, and indicate the orange juice, much the way a German
Shorthaired Pointer would indicate a duck.
The
sarcasm is lost on him.
Now
he has the orange juice container in his hand and looks me right in the face
and asks, “Honey? Where are the
glasses?”
I
hand him his spectacles.
The
sarcasm is lost on him.
“No,
I mean to put the juice in,” he whines.
That
finally does it. Still in my bathrobe
and fuzzy slippers, I put on my coat, get in the car, and drive away.
If
you happen to be passing by, you might want to drop off a gallon of orange
juice for my husband so he doesn’t get dehydrated.
Just
don’t put it behind the milk!
Honey, Where do I find the Comment tab?
ReplyDeleteHahahahahahahahahahahahaahahaha! You're killin' me!
ReplyDeleteThe sad thing is I've been the husband on some days and I'm now thanking God my wife is so damn patient with me. Plus, I make sure only I know where the sharp objects are in this house.
ReplyDeleteWell, an ounce of prevention...
ReplyDeletePoor Mr Krummenacker.
ReplyDeleteHere's a short story for your benefit and intellectual enrichment.
"There was once a young soldier stationed in Japan. He was quartered in a decent little hostel, where a competent maid kept his rooms in pleasant order. She was generally likeable and trustworthy; however, in order to keep her from sudden temptation, every morning before leaving for duty, he would hide his expensive Nikon camera.
One morning he forgot, and he worried about it all day. His worries were greatly compounded when he returned to his rooms that evening and found his camera missing.
Until, that is, he discovered that the maid had returned it to its secret hiding-place."