“One blog post a week” Well, it’s been a year since my last one, that sounds about right for me. If you have never read my stories, please go to #1 and catch up. Comments, good or bad, are always welcome. As I’ve stated before, these things are just how my mind works, as sad as that may be. They are written to be entertaining, partly fictional with just a hint of truth to offset the mounds of B.S.
It looks like these ramblings are going to be about like my shop work. Thank God the people around here know how I am before they even hire me. I tell them from the start, “Don’t call me asking if its done, it will be done when I’m finished with it. Tell me what you want, when you need it, and then leave me alone” I guess I’m blessed in the fact that I’ve been at it so long people are just used to me. I’m old, I’m hateful, and I’m hard to work with..but I’m also very good at what I do. Just ask me, I’ll tell you!.
I’ve thought about having the phrase “This ain’t Burger King, you don’t get it your way. You get it my way or you don’t get the S.O.B. at all” added to my business cards but my “bookkeeper” says it would go over about like my fart in Sunday school class last week. How smart can she be anyway, she DID marry me?
Anyway, speaking of my bookkeeper, well…she is sort of what inspired me to write this entry. Don’t get me wrong, I do love that woman…the one that’s in there….somewhere. The thing is, she keeps getting farther and farther from the surface. A short 25 years ago she was this smoking hot, 125 pound babe that would get up an hour before the clock went off just so she could have her hair and make up done when I rolled over to hit the snooze button. I would come home to a smiling bookkeeper meeting me at the back door, my cold beer in hand. My towel and clothes would be all laid out and the shower started. A great supper every night, then, wearing a sexy little teddy, she would lead me to bed where she would..well…you know. Yep sports fans, I’m saying she gave it to me any time I wanted it…and made me take it when I didn’t! life was good.
Fast forward a quarter century. I still look for her at the back door, but now it’s to make sure she doesn’t waddle out from behind the bushes and hit me with the damn mop again. I think that’s the only time she’s picked it up this year. I then look to see if she changed the locks while I was at work…again. If I do get in, I find 2 bookkeepers…well she’d make two, sprawled on the couch like a weeks wash, sucking down chicken like KFC needs their bucket back. No more fresh towels for me, all I find is 3 dirty beach towels and a giant pair of granny panties on the floor with more skid marks than turn 3 at most NASCAR tracks. I guess when the mere shadow of your ass weighs three and a half pounds, you have places you just can’t reach anymore. I’m almost sure those bloomers started life as a parashoot in WW2. Some still have bullet holes to prove it.
She announces I need to go to the barn and check the horses. It seems she wanted to ride today and, as she waddled to the fence, saddle in hand, every one of them developed a spontaneous limp. I trudge out cussing my decisions and muttering stuff like “I’d be out of jail by now” and “ass looks like a truck hood with hail damage” Now, I can’t prove this but, I swear those horses were giggling. They all looked fine to me. She squeezed out the back door to see for herself and they all went lame again as she approached the barn…well, all but the one closest to the house. He hit the ground in some sort of horse seizure and flopped like a fish until he heard the door slam as she went back inside. Like magic, he was up and fine again. Never seen anything like it. Guess I better call the vet. I actually wish she would try ridding again. Last summer she was thrown off and stuff we lost years ago flew out from the folds in her neck. We found a remote for a VHS player, a TV guide with the A-Team on the cover, and a canceled check from 1981. I know I left my new Grrr-ipper on the couch somewhere and I’m betting…
Then to supper, I usually have to make two TV dinners because, when she hears the microwave “ding” she charges like a linebacker, pushes me down, and takes the first one. She doesn’t mean to be so aggressive, it’s just when she gets all that mass headed in one direction with a head of steam, she can’t stop. I moved out of her path once and opened the kitchen door, she went right out into the back yard and did a belly flop when eight or nine of her chins outran her feet. It was raining and, between her girth, my laughter, and the chicken grease up to her elbows, I just couldn’t get her up. I did cover her up with a tarp off the woodpile to keep her dry until help got here. Y’all DO remember me saying she hit me with a mop once? Well, not once, she hit me several times but just this one occasion. Maybe I deserved it because my ass ate BOTH them Hungry Man dinners while she was flopping around under that tarp!
She moved the microwave to a new location after that. The last time I tried dodging in the current kitchen configuration, she overshot and turned the refrigerator over so its best to just try to head her off and give her the Salisbury steak. If I don’t eat mine fast enough, she lovingly finishes it for me…nobody likes those mashed potatoes anyway.
Then….bedtime. When its a size 21…it’s no longer called a teddy…it’s a grizzly. I went to the dirty girl store last Valentines day and asked for something to make a 50 year old woman sexy, she handed me a leather blindfold. I asked, “What is she going to do with that?” “Tie it on YOU” was the reply…I bought two. And nothing looks the same anymore…I don’t mean the same as years ago…I mean the same as the other one. She entered a wet t-shirt contest last summer and took 1st AND 3rd place! What was once the scent of sweet perfume dabbed behind her ears is now the smell of Extra Crispy from having her head plunged in licking the bottom of the afor mentioned KFC bucket. On the plus side, she has the shiniest ears I’ve ever seen. The parts that could once bounce a quarter like a military bed, now feel like a bag of water…just kind of runs between your fingers.
It’s not all bad, when her “Who Shot J.R” t-shirt comes off and gravity takes over, everything drops and jerks all the wrinkles out of her face! She looks like the woman I married 25 years ago.
I don’t get it…I look exactly the same. Well, other than minor, almost unnoticeable things like going from thick blonde hair to being almost bald …and putting on 5 or 40 pounds…and those aren’t wrinkles, they’re laugh lines…and maybe the thick winter pelt I’ve cultivated on my neck, shoulders, and back. It keeps the sawdust from going down my shirt…and ears ok. And maybe I do walk a LITTLE funny, wore out knees and 12 hour days for the last 25 years will do that. And the crooked broken nose from the kickback..and maybe the little scar from the broken glasses from that kickback but boy at bedtime, I’m 25 again…as long as she picked up my little blue pills.
See, EXACTLLY the same man I was all those years ago. Maybe I’ve just aged better….who knows?
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