Now if you ask me, there isn’t a guy more loving and supportive of his dear wife than I am of the gal I call Trophy. You could ask her opinion, but at the moment she’s out running errands or whatever.
Just this morning I said “Darlin’ why should we invest all our money in a new washing machine when there’s a laundromat just down the road a piece and we can do our clothes there, just like back in college?”
See, in the short term we save money, and in the long run we’re all dead anyway, right? She could hardly argue the point, busy as she is.
Anyhoo, her first opportunity to prove me right (or wrong; I’m not one of those hard-headed guys who can’t acknowledge making a mistake) was today when she shouldered that bag and headed off in the rain down to Shop ’n’ Wash. I should’ve drove her but we couldn’t find the keys to the car at that point although I’ll be beat if they weren’t in my pants pocket the whole time we were searching the house!
Meantime I’ll have me a beer to save her the trouble of fetching one when she gets back. Ain’t like she doesn’t do enough as is, if you ask me.
Example Two: Here she’s coming up the front steps and I’ll open the door for her before she can even find her key. Help her lift that doggone heavy bag, bring it on in and tell her “Now hon, you just set down, sit still, take a load off, and I’ll get me a beer.
“Y’all mind taking this empty one out to the recycle bin?”
Usually we have lunch at noon but I told her it was fine if she didn’t feel like getting it together until 12:30 or so. Whatever. I try to be flexible and easygoing.
Besides, that’ll give her time to sort through the socks and jockey shorts and set aside shirts that might need ironing later today. Then something struck me, and I tended to it, pronto.
“Now darlin’ wasn’t it last week you took that nasty spill down the stairs, and you still seem to be limping pretty good. Must hurt. Tell you what: I’ll be seeing my doctor come Thursday at our Golf-n-Girls Club luncheon, and I’ll try to remember to ask him what he thinks ought to be recommended. You just remind me before I go.”
Now for all you readers doin’ me the favor of reading the weekly TWK column, you know today is Sunday. Special day for certain, but it’s also the only day of the week I have a bunch of my buddies come over to watch sports on the big TV.
Games usually runs from about noon til maybe nine in the evening, and it does give my darlin’ Trophy the opportunity to rest a bit. Not like I’d ever force her to watch the Boilermakers take on the Cornhuskers, but to be honest, this time of year I don’t know if it’s football or basketball, not that she’d be watching neither.
I’ll surprise her by announcing I found the car keys so she go on out to Redwood Valley and pick up the pizzas I ordered with her Visa card. And with six large pizzas there’s sure to be leftovers a-plenty tomorrow, though she doesn’t much dig the anchovies and jalapeños. No biggie. I mean, it’s not like she couldn’t have ordered her own. I try to be fair.
Then it turns out The Sooners and Ducks played last week, and the only thing on the screen for me and my pals is Championship Bowling. Oof. I sure wish she’d have told me!
Turns out Kip forgot to bring the beer (a likely story) so I asked my sweet little dearie if she’d mind going out to get us some, which she agreed upon without much argument at all. I reminded her that the Kwikee Mart out on East Perkins is having a sale on Old Milwaukee, if it’s no problem going the extra distance. And I said to keep the receipt so I can reimburse her my share.
We all hung around the house with parched tongues til she got back, but not one of any of ‘em had a single unkind thing to say about the 15 minute delay. Every one of these guys is a prince if you ask me.
And I suppose the wife looks forward to these Sunday get-togethers quite a lot since she takes a break from making dinner and all the dishes and stuff. I know it does me a world of good to see her just resting all comfy in bed by six o’clock or so.
Good thing she’s getting her rest. She’ll be needing it come tomorrow morning when we have to get down to SFO by 5 a.m. for my monthly trek to Vegas with the golf and poker guys.
I feel bad that she’ll have to do the driving, but there’s just no way I won’t have me one king-size hangover tomorrow morning.
With our anniversary just around the bend Tom Hine was thinking of giving dear Trophy a spectacular gift, but she says we’re too broke what with the plane tickets and my gambling debts. Don’t look at me, says TWK, given all the economizing by not blowing our nest egg on a washing machine.
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