Some marital relationships get can pretty staid with about the only excitement happening when the cat gets its tail caught under the rocking chair.
What kind of a life is that anyway? Just sitting there rocking, watching the world go by, and waiting to die.
With the Pearl of the Orient, my wife, life is never that dull, but near death experiences are pretty common for me, so I’m informed.
“Just leave the toilet seat up once more!” or “You bought what?” are the kind of responses I’ve long grown accustomed to. And in my defence, I have to actively seek little earth tremors just to keep the score close to even.
In the last 38 odd years, I have been choked with peach juice, had my butt assaulted with a vicious pinch, my privates zapped with static electricity, my prized wild game cache given away, and my computer drive terrorized, amongst other indignities to my manhood.
So on occasion, I make a pre-emptive strike just to keep the score close and the marital mystery alive.
Perhaps you’d like to spice up your relationship. Here’s a few ideas:
While sitting at a charity fundraiser, after your sweetie has cautioned you not to bid 20 bucks on pie because you’re already too fat, drop a $500 bid on the three-day wilderness fishing trip.
Even if you get stuck with the winning bid, the look of “awe and shock” on her face will be worth the pain.
When she starts to sputter, simply counter with, “Well, you didn’t really want that new chesterfield anyway, did you?”
Don’t ever expect to come out ahead, however. It’s not in the cards. I’m still trying to pull even with the Pearl after her classic “gotcha.”
I had spent a long morning on the computer doing books and filing junk—a chore I detest. A break was in order, so I descended from my inner sanctum.
A gentleman in a suit was sitting at the dining room table enjoying a coffee and in deep discussion with the Pearl. There was an assortment of documents and brochures spread before them.
My eyeballs were pretty much burnt from staring at the computer, so I couldn’t really focus on the literature. And before I could, the gentleman jumped up and began pumping my arm with a shake that would have intimidated a seasoned politician.
I was curious. What was going on? Who was this dude? There was no mention from the Pearl earlier of anyone coming and the last door-to-door peddler that stuck his foot in the door on the Pearl is still taking physio for the shattered ankle.
Something was afoot here.
“I’m just making funeral arrangements—yours, and maybe mine,” said the Pearl, directing the guest back to his chair.
He almost had his first pick-up right there and then. I know I stopped breathing and I think my heart stopped. My mouth probably was hanging open and a stunned look of shock froze my face.
Never at a loss for words, I was speechless. I think you call it sucking wind.
So you see, I need help. Any of your suggestions on one-upmanship would be greatly appreciated. Please contact me—not the Pearl.
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