• Without My Wife, It’s a Complicated Life

    by Donald K. Sanders

    Why does everything have to be so difficult and complicated. Like every morning, I plugged in the coffee pot. It began to make noise: Gurgle, gurgle and gurgle. After a short nap, I scratched my butt and walked to the percolator. I grabbed the cleanest dirty cup and began to pour the sweet liquid, hoping to get most of it actually into the cup.

    The coffee smelled oh so good. It was hot. But there was only clear, hot water in the cup. Ya see what I mean? It’s as if I have to be a detective all the time.

    I thought to myself, “I wonder if it’s going to get hot today? If it is, my friend Steve and I will have to go rock hunting when it’s early and still cool or the snakes will be out.”

    Steve is a funny guy when there are snakes around. He likes to place his walking stick under a rattlesnake and flick it in the air towards me. This always starts a full- fledged rock fight. When rock fighting, I like to think big. Steve, however is like that Wallace guy in Braveheart, and thinks small and accurate. My big rocks rarely strike the target but Steve seems to have a laser sight on all of his little rocks. He cheats too!

    Holding one’s hands in the air is supposed to signify the end of the rock fight. I’m assuming that by saying, “the end of the rock fight,” there should be no further rock throwing, right? Not for Steve! He’ll wait a few minutes and then knock my hat off with one of his super accurate rock rockets. He likes to hit me on the knuckles too.

    OK, back to the coffee detective. Long story short, I forgot to grind the coffee beans. There were whole beans in the little basket thingy. I had to do the whole process all over again, from the start. I was still scratching my butt when I noticed there wasn’t a single clean spoon anywhere to be found. No forks either. They were all dirty, in the sink, with food still on them. Every counter was stacked with dirty dishes.

    I like to sit on the back steps to drink my coffee. There were stacks of dirty clothes that I had to step over to make it to the steps. I was going to throw a load or two in the wash but there was already a load in the washer from a couple of days ago and smelled sour. I thought, “OK forget that idea.”

    At about this point in time I was thinking that I probably should take a pill or something. I had promised my wife Therese that I wouldn’t cut myself, so that was out. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that my wife is on an excursion with her four sisters in Ireland. They will be gone for three weeks. They left two days ago. Therese and I have rarely been apart for very long except for my “vacations.” (Jail, some people call it.)

    Jail is a trip! You can sit at a table and inevitably some big asswipe will want some of your food. They say, “Are you gonna eat that?” My answer is always the same: “Don don’t like you!” It seems that if you talk about yourself in third person, most people will leave you alone, even if you are incarcerated. Another funny thing about jail is the fact that I was the only innocent person in the whole place. The guards seemed to sense this and gave me the run of the place. Either that or they were afraid I’d tell the world that their boss’ name is Bart Simpson.

    Therese asked me if I needed a “to do” list before she left. I told her, “Heck no.” I could have been an advisor to President Obama — why would I need something like a “to do” list! If you look at housework like taking prisoners in a war, there is a specific strategy that can be used to complete the task required and it’s quite easy to follow. It’s called “box-barrage.”

    Say you have some Germans or dirty laundry – whatever. At the proper time, an air strike or artillery barrage aimed at your target will provide a good reason for them to take cover. At another point in time, the target shifts to the left and right flank and around to their rear, thus making escape impossible. Works every time. Stinkin laundry!

    Anyway, like I said before, I’m rarely separated from my wife, and I don’t need a “to-do” list. I already had two of the things she had asked me to do taken care of anyway. I cleaned and restacked the bookshelves and checked the plants to see if they needed water. Amazingly, there was some difficulty there too. Why is everything so hard!

    Putting the books back in place, I found that I had lost some of Therese’s books. And the plants didn’t need water. They were already dead. I swear, they must have started dying before my wife left because it’s only been two days since she left. Man, why does everything have to be so hard for me. I can’t even cross the street without some jerk trying to run me over. I always yell at them, “Don don’t like that!”

    I could go on and on. The point of this whole sordid life thingy for me is this: I don’t like it when my wife is not with me. I want her to be happy and vacation with her sisters. I want her to live life to the fullest and she can’t do that with a guy who doesn’t like, well, just about everything. I can’t believe how much I miss her when she isn’t here.

    It’s like the song says:

    “Baby come to me, let me put my arms around you.

    This was meant to be and I’m oh so glad I found you.

    Need you everyday, gotta have your love around me.

    Baby, always stay, cause I can’t go back to living without you!”

    I can’t go back to living without you, so come home safe Therese. I am waiting.



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