WHY ME, GOD?

I was deep in sleep, dreaming about a symposium I was attending, giving professional comments, and quite frankly, impressing myself. The moderator was agreeing with me, and it was a woman who looked like she meant it!

Suddenly I felt this rude awakening, a tug on the arm that was about to become a full-scale slap. Jumping from the depths of sleep to the murky waters of semi-consciousness, there stood before me TLW (The Little Woman). Now normally I would probably want to give her such a shot, but shrewdly she was holding a dish with a fork!

“Here, taste this.” (A clear attempt to kill me)

I look into the dish, it is a salad she is making for her cohort who is retiring, as I look at the bedside alarm that reads: 5:39 A.M.!

That is correct, 5:39 A.M.!

Trying to put my mouth into gear to taste, and my arms in motion to accept this blatant attempt on my life and widowhood for her, in my stupor I try the salad.

Some of the salad wants to leave my mouth, as my lips struggle to catch it as TLW asks: “how does it taste? What do you think?”

I reply incoherently that I’m trying to get a fix on it with a dry mouth, sleep in my eyes and murder in my heart.

“Does it taste rancid?”

RANCID! DID SHE SAY “RANCID”?

Do you remember when you were a kid and there was this toy acrobat artist that hung from a bar that when you squeezed the base, it flipped around the bar? Well that was my stomach every time she mentioned the word “Rancid”.

And what was she doing as she climbed the stairs to administer what she thought was a sure thing to widowhood?

Laughing!

You see boys and girls; this is what happens when you are over-insured.