Same words but spouses speak different languages

May 21, 2017

The times I’ve been in the most trouble at home are either for something I said or, more likely, that I didn’t say. I never know which. My wife and I speak entirely different languages. Our words are the same. We use the same syntax. Even our accents match. But what it all means — and what constitutes meaningful — no clue. How do we hubbies dig ourselves into such deep communication pits? Let’s examine this completely made-up (because I’m not admitting to anything) conversation between my long-suffering wife and me, the one who induces her suffering long. She’s on the ...

Jumble of odd thoughts excavated from ill-advised cleanup

May 14, 2017

Cleaning out the garage ranks as one of the most dangerous tasks a guy can do. The temptation to tidy tingles when the garage reaches maximum capacity. Disrupting this delicate balance of clutter can bring the piles crashing down upon you, burying you in boxes you forgot to unpack when you moved in 20 or 30 years ago. Worse, a cleaned garage with more than three square inches of room triggers expensive trips to hardware stores and attracts replacement junk from the house to fill the freshly opened space. Nature abhors a vacuum and garages detest an unjumbled surface. So it was with ...

Gramps grumbles tall tales, poor puns about farm life

May 7, 2017

“Gramps, tell me one of your made-up stories of growing up on the farm.” The old man embedded in the easy chair yawned. “My yarns are true, every last one.” The kid clambered into the old man’s lap. “Did you have sheep on your farm?” “We had bunches of sheep. A wool lot of sheep.” “How many’s that, Grandpa?” “I never did find out,” the old man said. “Every time I started to count them, I feel asleep.” “Why?” “You know, counting sheep? Falling asleep? Baa-baa? Oh, never mind.” The kid studied the old man and shrugged. “What crops did you ...

Alliterative procrastination alleviates predicament

April 30, 2017

Terry and I hurried to get gussied up for an event we really didn’t want to attend. We’d putzed and procrastinated until we couldn’t putter around anymore. There was nothing left to do but dress and go, like it or not. “I guess I better get my shoes.” She sighed. “Have you ever noticed that everything you put on your foot starts with the letter S?” “Not really. Grab me a pair of socks.” “See?” She flopped on the couch, kicked off her slippers, and wiggled her toes. “Shoes. Socks. Slippers. They start with S.” “But my tennis shoes...” “You mean your ...

House ghost pulls pranks, collects mail

April 22, 2017

The ghost who lives in our house is about to retire. I know, because his junk mail last week included an offer to supplement his brand new Medicare eligibility. Donnell is our ghost. His junk mail’s been showing up in our box for about as long as we’ve lived in our house. Or possibly his house. We’re not really sure. “We need to start charging Donnell rent,” my wife said as she crossed out the address label on yet another envelope. I studied the words she’d written in red: “Return to sender. No one by that name lives here.” “Maybe he does live here,” I said. “It ...

A Burt by any other name is just as confused

April 16, 2017

I need a name change. It seems that to succeed in life, one needs great talent, a delightful personality, stunningly good looks or a really cool name. My option was obvious. A nom de plume it is. Mom and Dad planned to name me Martha Louise, but I didn’t cooperate. So they settled on Burton. Burton Cole seems to confuse people. Folks can’t figure out if I have two first names or two last names. So rebranding seems to be in order. Maybe something like Grandmaster B, Quentin Q. Quigglesworth or Santa Cole Claus (I bear a striking resemblance). It worked for Marion Morrison. He ...