My wife and I grew up on farms, so we used to be early risers. Somewhere along the way, maybe due in part to 12 years of afternoon shift, four years total of unemployment and now two years of retirement, we’ve become night-owls. We both have trouble getting to sleep, so stay up late, and then sleep late, which re-enforces the problem.
Another problem for me is that I need a little time for my system to wake up before I can eat anything, whereas my wife wakes up hungry enough to eat a horse. Worse yet, she usually wakes up a few minutes ahead of me. Then she hollers “Lunch!” Now it might be 11AM, or it might be 8:30, but it’s lunch and it’s NOT a small meal!
Lunch was reasonably late today at 10AM, but my belly still wasn’t awake yet. As soon as I sat down, the Mighty Dachshund began a terrific session of rolling on the floor right in front of me. That’s her way of saying, “GEE, I’m thrilled to see you, I’ve missed you and I’ve got to go outside RIGHT THIS SECOND!” So, I left my meal untouched, put on my jeans and took her out. She proceeded to drain a while and then, for the next several minutes, purged her bowels over twenty feet and in three piles. I’m sure she felt better afterwards. After cleaning her off (Who wants poop on the carpet?) I took her back inside and washed my hands.
Returning to my then cool meal, I ate my green beans and macaroni and cheese with gusto, the fried chicken thigh—not so much. I prefer breast meat, but any and all chicken is okay. My wife prefers thighs, which she invariably rolls in flour and fries. Unless they’re grilled, I’ve always found them to be fatty and don’t much care for them. However, she loves them and they’re the best price so, when we have chicken, we have thighs. Wonderful! (Could you cut that sarcasm with a knife or WHAT?)
After turning on my computer, my own innards seemed to be calling my name, so I headed for the little room at the foot of the stairs. My wife asked if I was headed there and, when I answered in the affirmative, she told me to hurry up, because she needed to go, too. Strange, I wonder why she hadn’t already drug herself away from the TV and gone? Actually, my wife rarely needs to go to the bathroom until I start there, then she needs to go worse than I do. So this time, as I usually do, I told her to go first. A minute later, she emerged, telling me it was a false alarm.
Sometimes, I think her constant need to go only when I do is related to women in public never going to the bathroom alone when other women are available to go with them. Did you ever notice they make a social event out of it? Now I can see if they’re in a seedy section of town and in fear for their life (or their purse), but in a fancy restaurant with a crowd of people nearby? The government should take away some of the money that they use studying cockroaches and tree frogs and investigate that phenomenon. Men around the world would like to know the reason.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, as soon as I emerged from the bathroom and sat down at the computer a lady from the doctor’s office called about some meds. Then my wife brought me a phone number and wanted me to take care of a matter for her. Maybe her “dialing” finger is hurt and she never told me.
As I finished my morning grump here, I looked out the window, thinking that I might tinker around outside before it gets too hot. Unfortunately, I missed my narrow window of opportunity—it’s raining………AGAIN!