Twenty-eight years of marriage catches you quicker than you may think. We celebrate every year with a small outing just the two of us. Where for the most part it has been bliss, there are a few moments of turmoil throughout the years. Some were caused by us both being hard-headed and quite a few were caused by me just being an agitator. Like this one:
Sitting on the couch watching television, I turned to my lovely bride and asked, “Would you like some tea?”
A warm smile, “Sure.”
“While you are up getting yours, can you get me one too?” I didn’t wait for the piercing eyes, I jumped up and made us tea.
A good test for a husband isn’t how much trouble he can avoid, but how much trouble he can get out of. Men will always be in trouble with their wives. It is in our nature to rub them wrong occasionally. If a woman does not become angry once in a while, it means she doesn’t care about him enough to get mad at him. That is not a place he wants to see.
If the true test of a husband is getting out of trouble, may I suggest cooking a meal for her? Learn to cook men, it mitigates out a multitude of sins, errors, and orneriness. Give her a night where she can pull her chair up to the table without slaving in the kitchen beforehand. For bonus points, clean the kitchen afterward giving her a whole evening to herself. It makes for a peaceful home with many benefits and favors long-term relationships.
Did I mention my dog is a Karen? As mentioned before Ginger’s eats at four-ish. Starting at three o’clock most days she sits at the bottom of the steps looking despondent as an orphan in a Dicken’s novel. Seeing her melancholy stare, one might suspect she hadn’t eaten in over a month. Please note, breakfast comes at six-thirty every morning.
She began arguing about the speed at which people feed her several years ago. We become accustomed to the “Arrooonnnoo,” when the two steps from the closet to her bowl happen to slow. But, this past week she starts tapping her paw against the side of her bowl with total annoyance. The rhythmic beat reminds me of the Karen in so many stories tapping their foot impatiently waiting to be served. As I prepare dinner for us, mom is the one to feed her and she has no higher management to complain to.
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