While waiting for my morning tea the other day, my wife gripes, “I told you not to touch the rope and now your back is out. Why won’t you listen to me?”
I stretch my back and it feels fine, “What are you talking about?”
“In my dream, we went camping, and the line to the tent post needed to be secured. You tightened it even though I told you not to and your back went out.”
As everyone should know by reading my blogs our marriage is in its twenty-ninth year. These discussions happen several times a year and yet, each time it surprises me. I read other stories of husbands getting into trouble by their wives dreaming of something they did or didn’t do. Why men are responsible for the actions that take place in the wife’s nightmare?” Please respond, for I am looking for answers.
Did I mention my dog is a Karen? Tuesdays we host Small Group where five to ten people join us for dinner and Bible study. Ginger bathes in the attention of the familiar faces coming through the door. The queen of the house takes center stage. Naturally, during dinner, her famished face lies to everyone we are abusers for not feeding ever, even though she ate at four o’clock. Then the study begins and she gives a forlorn look as if to say she had no love since the last blue moon.
This past Tuesday came with her usual lies to gain attention from everyone. She eventually settled and we held a very interesting discussion on Colossians 1:13-20. The study lasted until a quarter to nine and people began to file out. Ginger used our attention away from her and snuck out the front door. “Get your furry butt inside,” shouted from my mouth. To which I heard, “Don’t talk about your wife that way,” from behind me.
Our resident Karen gave me her classic “Catch me if you can,” stare then took off to investigate the new cars in our drive. She examined every one of them to be sure there was no malice. Her mom, my wife tried to chase her down, but our Karen is fleet of paws. Meanwhile, I ran to the refrigerator for some Ginger Snackies and shook the bag out the door. She sprinted back into the house.
Ginger Snackies are homemade dog cookies we sell on Saturday morning at the local farmer’s market. My wife askes last night, “What Karen story did you discover?” and I explain this one to her. Then short disgruntled groan states, “Lies” came from the floor with Ginger’s eyes narrowed and furrowed at me.
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