Shopping With my Wife

Posted on April 29, 2013 by enthusiasmiscontagious

It’s time to put on my silk shorts and gloves. Cue the Rocky music. I’m going ten rounds of shopping with my wife. It is payday and it’s the first time in weeks my wallet hasn’t given off the sound of crickets when I opened it. The truth is, my wife needs clothes, she’s starting a new job this week. I’ve been spared the indignity of a long drawn out process because she does not need business attire. No, my wife is in need of scrubs. Scrubs: the next best thing to going to work in your pajamas. The added benefit is they hide a multitude of sins which includes that last double pie ala mode not withstanding.

Asking me to help her choose this simple attire has to be relatively safe. What could be the worse thing that would come out when she seeks my opinion? I can imagine myself blurting out,”Honey, is that a drawstring on your pants or is that a rip cord for a green parachute?” “No, I’m not saying they are unflattering, but did you get a bargain on those at the Tractor Supply?”

I value my life and I know the drill. Stay patient, don’t speak unless asked, don’t act embarrassed-despite the mountain of cast off clothes in your cart (buggy), and try to look masculine at all costs. I know my cart looks like I cleaned the floor of a 13 year old teenager’s bedroom but how can I look manly while holding my wife’s purse? I can just imagine a crackly voice on the store intercom making the loud announcement, “Women shoppers, don’t mind the effeminate pack mule by the changing room.”

Women shop as if every garment they try on will be scrutinized at their next high school reunion. As for me, I could care less what I look like. If it’s not wrinkled and the socks match, I’m ready to go. Despite my lengthy wait, I know my wife is still breathing because I hear her frequent sighs, groans, and outbursts. It is then when I hear her say emphatically behind the door, “Are you kidding me?” or “I look like a sausage casing in this!” That is usually my cue to make a bee line to sporting goods because she’s going to come out in a very bad mood.

Despite the fact that I still see my wife as picture-perfect, in a recent picture she described her disgust by pointing at a picture of the both of us. In the background, one of her knees, (which only she can see), appears to have a minor and imperceptible bump on it; “Look, a fat pad” she moaned. I responded, “Aren’t we just a tad bit critical? I mean, you married a fat pad but I still wear shorts!”

I am glad to report that we finally left the store with seven non clinging sets of scrubs with drawstrings pants. I wanted to tell her that they share the same feature with our Hefty trash bags; they have drawstrings too! But, I thought better than to say it, I’ll just think it. The reason is, I might share a feature with the trash bags as well; I too might spend the night out by the curb!

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Shopping With my Wife

Posted on April 29, 2013 by enthusiasmiscontagious

It’s time to put on my silk shorts and gloves. Cue the Rocky music. I’m going ten rounds of shopping with my wife. It is payday and it’s the first time in weeks my wallet hasn’t given off the sound of crickets when I opened it. The truth is, my wife needs clothes, she’s starting a new job this week. I’ve been spared the indignity of a long drawn out process because she does not need business attire. No, my wife is in need of scrubs. Scrubs: the next best thing to going to work in your pajamas. The added benefit is they hide a multitude of sins which includes that last double pie ala mode not withstanding.

Asking me to help her choose this simple attire has to be relatively safe. What could be the worse thing that would come out when she seeks my opinion? I can imagine myself blurting out,”Honey, is that a drawstring on your pants or is that a rip cord for a green parachute?” “No, I’m not saying they are unflattering, but did you get a bargain on those at the Tractor Supply?”

I value my life and I know the drill.  Stay patient, don’t speak unless asked, don’t act embarrassed-despite the  mountain of cast off clothes in your cart (buggy), and try to look masculine at all costs. I know it looks like I cleaned the floor of a 13 year old teenager’s bedroom but how can I look manly while holding my wife’s purse? I can just imagine a crackly voice on the store intercom making the loud announcement, “Women shoppers,  don’t mind the effeminate pack mule by the changing room.”

Women shop as if every garment they try on will be scrutinized at their next high school reunion.  As for me, I could care less what I look like. If it’s not wrinkled and the socks match, I’m ready to go.  Despite my lengthy wait, I know my wife is still breathing because I hear her frequent sighs, groans, and outbursts. It is then when I hear her say emphatically behind the door, “Are you kidding me?” or “I look like a sausage casing in this!” That is usually my cue to make a bee line to sporting goods because she’s going to come out in a very bad mood.

Despite the fact that I still see my wife as picture-perfect, in a recent picture she described her disgust by pointing at a picture of the both of us. In the background, one of her knees, (which only she can see), appears to have a minor and imperceptible bump on it; “Look, a fat pad” she moaned. I responded, “Aren’t we just a tad bit critical? I mean, you married a fat pad but I still wear shorts!”

I am glad to report that we finally left the store with seven non clinging sets of scrubs with drawstrings pants. I wanted to tell her that they share the same feature with our Hefty trash bags; they have drawstrings too! But, I thought better than to say it, I’ll just think it. The reason is, I might share a feature with the trash bags as well; I too might spend the night out by the curb!

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Particle Board Nightmare

Posted on April 25, 2013 by enthusiasmiscontagious

I suppose I could look at my life and question the vocation I chose. If I had been a better cook, I could have been a chef. If I had applied myself, I could have been a doctor. However I don’t have regrets about not becoming an engineer. I practiced that vocation last night when I purchased a piece of particle board furniture from my local retailer.

The picture on the box made it look so simple and easy. Two sides, one back, and three shelves, how difficult could it be? It threw me for a loop when I opened the cardboard cavern at home and three zip-lock baggies with a thousand pieces fell out. I was giddy. “They think of everything, I get a snack cake while I assemble this silly thing.”Sadly it turned out to be screws, dowels and wood pasties. Actually, it should have included a sack lunch because this procedure was going to take as long as the birth of our last child. Same scenario: bewilderment, intermittent screams of agony, the same questions running through my head, “what was I thinking, and did I really need another one of these?”

The instructions looked like it should have been written on papyrus and found in an ancient clay pot. The illegible multitude of foreign languages on the flyer looked like a manifesto from ancient Mesopotamia. Good luck putting this train wreck together without having spare parts left over! I felt like the TV character McGyver. Here is your oatmeal box, grass clippings and weed whacker string, make a useable bomb.

As I placed side A on it’s left side, inserted Side C into B, I attached D, it dawned on me that the devil had acquired a new weapon. This piece of sawdust particles holding hands was a conspiracy to make God-fearing people lose their Christianity. I know this because the nails were small. I crushed my thumb three times with the tack hammer (no naughty words so far). Two of the screws went too deep and poked out the finish on one of the sides. After assembling it, my little Tower of Pisa had one panel backwards thereby giving me a finished piece facing inward not outward. I could have lived with it, but it gave me the same feeling I get when I see a cheap toupee worn sideways; it irritated me to death. So I took it apart and reassembled it. This time I did it without the back piece attached, then I reinspected it.

Pathetically flimsy with an acute case of scoliosis was my initial diagnosis. Who would have thought the cardboard backing would literally be the spine of the whole operation? Now fully assembled, I stood back to see whether my ‘masterpiece” resembled it’s picture on the box. It did if you compare Phyllis Diller to Miss America and believe they’re identical twins.

Now scratched on the front from laying it down to nail on the back. Two holes now prominent on the exterior right side, from the protruding screws. This rickety barnyard biscuit was now useable only if it was placed on a right hand wall to hide the large sawdust pimples from the protruding screws. My attempt at carpentry and engineering had reached it’s climactic zenith.

Three blood pressure pills and one anti-depressant later, I’ve decided next time I’m paying my daughter $25 to put my furniture together. At least while she’s banging her thumb with the tack hammer, I can be sipping ice tea in my hammock happily singing, “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.”

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Persistance Pays Off

Posted on April 22, 2013 by enthusiasmiscontagious

Each morning, as I step out of my home, I am being watched, intently I might add. Each time I stir by the front door, thirty-four pairs of eyes pop to the surface of my little artificial pond in my inner courtyard. It is here that a small school of Koi fish, with mouths wide open for emphasis, swim to the waters edge and beg for food. What’s most curious is they have a limited memory. If I am gone longer than two weeks, they forget who I am. It is then that I must win back their confidence by providing a little sustenance once again. If I am faithful in meeting their wagging tail fins and gaping mouths twice a day with food nuggets, they calm down and retreat immediately under the lily pads awaiting my next passing. Despite my attempts to ignore them, my very presence sends them into a frenzy. It’s like when my children were small and I would come home from work, their excitement in seeing me was heartwarming. Now, that my children are grown and living on their own, no one gives me this level of attention except for maybe a select few bill collectors.

At the Opryland hotel in Nashville Tennessee,  a large fish tank sits at the waters edge of an indoor lazy river. The hotel spares no cost at creating the authentic effects of a romantic river. A bridge spans the water and small boats ferry you around. What the casual observer may not know is inside the hotel rests a fish tank. Inside this tank resides a male fish that longs to join his friends in a larger venue: the river. As he swims looking out at the large expanse of water, he feels confined. I am sure his thoughts are consumed with freedom. I know this because so great is his desire to escape, he has jumped out of his aquarium onto the floor, wiggled and thrashed until at the waters edge he flops into the river. I am told he’s been caught and returned countless times to his aquarium. I like his drive, he NEVER gives up.

Our dog Goldie offered us a fresh perspective on persistence when she became fertile. When this happened, we sprung into action. Our plan consisted of one iron-clad battle plan: never let her loose outside. We didn’t want our dog running off with the first stray non-pedigreed hound dog in the area. Each time we took her outside, we kept a squirt gun of ammonia in our holsters so we could disperse all the love-struck male dogs with delusions of cheap romance. Like an overprotective father, I personally was choosy awaiting that special day when my dog’s paw would be given away properly, and not just to any neighborhood loser.

A week later, with a fresh coating of snow blanketing our steep driveway, our youngest son placed the leash over his wrist and proceeded to fight off the typical male suitors awaiting outside. Moments later, with a look of horror on his face, he rushed in to tell us that he had slipped in the snow and the leash had come off his wrist. In mere moments, our precious dog did the unthinkable; she ran off into the woods to sow her wild oats. Standing at the base of the mountainside that stood behind our home, I looked intently upward to see if I could see our wayward dog. I thought I heard doggy giggling far up the hill. It was then that I knew she was mocking me. We knew our fate when the following day not one, NOT ONE male dog made an appearance outside our door. In a few months Goldie gave birth to five puppies and none looked liked each other. My hats off to her five male suitors; she made them all papas.

We can learn a lot from some of life’s most simple creatures. Persistence pays off. Whether you dream of freedom, desire the basics in life, or crave a love story that may be a little on the wild side, never give up reaching for your dreams. Persistence, hard work, and achieving the impossible is what has made this country great. Don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise.

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