Let me preface this by saying that my husband and I do not make a big deal over our birthdays, our anniversary or Christmas. Pretty early on in our relationship, I learned that he was just not a celebratory kind of guy. Actually, I became painfully aware of that fact on a camping/riding trip, that took place several years before we were married. Knocking around in the mountains, on our horses, there was some conversation over something that he had forgotten to do. After we had established the fact that he had, indeed, forgotten to do whatever it was that he was supposed to do, the conversation went like this....
Him: You can't expect me to remember everything!
Me: Actually, I don't expect you to remember anything! Do you know what today is?
Him: Well...it's not our anniversary? (back then we used to celebrate the anniversary of our first date) It's not a holiday...ummm...
Me: It's my birthday. Today is MY BIRTHDAY!!!
Him: Oh. Uh.... sorry, Baby.
He lived a hard life for the next few days.
Yesterday was our 6th anniversary. Earlier this week the following conversation transpired.....
Me: Friday is our anniversary.
Him: That's right! It is on Friday!
Me: I'll bet you don't even know how many years we've been married.
Him (All indignant like) : Yes, I do! We've been married for six years!
I was impressed BEYOND belief...until yesterday...... when I came home from work and this conversation took place...
Me: Happy anniversary, Baby!
Him: Happy anniversary! How many years has it been? Five?
Am I living in the fricking TWILIGHT ZONE???
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Just Bury Me In The Backyard, But You Go First
Lately my husband has become obsessed with the idea that he wants to be buried in the backyard. He has brought this matter up several times and has asked me to check into the legalities. I keep promising to do so, but then I imagine calling Randy at the zoning board and saying something like, "Hi, Randy! How's it going? How's the wife? Got a question for ya. When the old man kicks off, can I bury him in the backyard?" Then I picture him hanging up the phone and immediately calling the sheriff, who agrees that my mental stability has always been questionable.
Well, last night the do-it-yourself home cemetery plot was brought up again, only this time he added, "While we're talking about this morbid subject, we need to figure out what we'll do about all these animals." WHAT? Then he specifically mentioned Gaye and Skeeter. (The two cats who have been de-clawed and can never be "outside" cats) That's when I realized that he was talking about me taking the "big exit" first! You see, the hubs has a very weak stomach and couldn't handle a litter box. He manages to shovel out the dog lot as long as the poo is solid, but if one of the little turd morsels happens to mush-up at all, then he has a big ol' gag-fest.
I have heard a story about when my step-daughter was three and was left alone with her father. It seems that she had an unfortunate accident in her pants and Daddy hosed her down outside. He claims, in his defense, that it was ninety degrees that day.
Apparently, horse excrement is far superior to that of dogs, cats and even humans, because I have witnessed (on many occasions) Johnny sitting by a trail, eating a sandwich while the essence of horse manure hangs heavily in the air. Shoveling horse dung is not a problem for him, either.
Anyway, I came up with the obvious solution to the problem of what to do about all of the animals, in the event of my early demise. I told Mr. Gag-O-Ramma that he is to immediately find and marry someone who cares about animals. That prompted him to launch into what his online profile would say. It went something like this:
Baggy-eyed old man, recent widower, 40 pounds overweight, missing a couple of teeth, likes his liquor, quite likely to be unemployed soon, owner of 4 cats, 4 dogs and 2 horses, is in desperate need of female who loves animals.
What woman wouldn't jump at that chance?
Well, last night the do-it-yourself home cemetery plot was brought up again, only this time he added, "While we're talking about this morbid subject, we need to figure out what we'll do about all these animals." WHAT? Then he specifically mentioned Gaye and Skeeter. (The two cats who have been de-clawed and can never be "outside" cats) That's when I realized that he was talking about me taking the "big exit" first! You see, the hubs has a very weak stomach and couldn't handle a litter box. He manages to shovel out the dog lot as long as the poo is solid, but if one of the little turd morsels happens to mush-up at all, then he has a big ol' gag-fest.
I have heard a story about when my step-daughter was three and was left alone with her father. It seems that she had an unfortunate accident in her pants and Daddy hosed her down outside. He claims, in his defense, that it was ninety degrees that day.
Apparently, horse excrement is far superior to that of dogs, cats and even humans, because I have witnessed (on many occasions) Johnny sitting by a trail, eating a sandwich while the essence of horse manure hangs heavily in the air. Shoveling horse dung is not a problem for him, either.
Anyway, I came up with the obvious solution to the problem of what to do about all of the animals, in the event of my early demise. I told Mr. Gag-O-Ramma that he is to immediately find and marry someone who cares about animals. That prompted him to launch into what his online profile would say. It went something like this:
Baggy-eyed old man, recent widower, 40 pounds overweight, missing a couple of teeth, likes his liquor, quite likely to be unemployed soon, owner of 4 cats, 4 dogs and 2 horses, is in desperate need of female who loves animals.
What woman wouldn't jump at that chance?
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