OH, YES YOU DID!

TLW (The Little Woman) and I have an ongoing discussion that is lasting 38 years! She has gathered all my likes and dislikes, and has put them in a mental notebook that she harbors. The range of topics go; from likes and dislikes to things I have said in the past.

For instance: This morning I asked about a group of bills that were ready to go out in the mail, which were sitting on the kitchen table. Each one of them was stamped, so I said: “Do you want those in the mailbox outside? I usually do this when the mailman is about to arrive. TLW responded: “You don’t like to leave mail in the mailbox!” I asked: “I don’t!?” “No you don’t.” I responded, “I never said that!” The final word was heard. “Oh, yes you did!”

If I inquire about some dish she hasn’t made in a while, I’ll ask about it and she will tell me that I don’t like that dish.

Now from reading this blog, you all know that I lost it long ago. No question about that, but I do know what I like and dislike. My question for you Dear Reader is: “Can you collect from the insurance company if you claim your husband is suffering from Dementia or Alzheimer’s? If you follow me here, you might see a pattern unraveling that I think I see.

Not to suggest that TLW is dishonest in any way, just efficient. I think 37 years ago when she married me, she decided to cut to the chase and have me committed to an old age home then, thus eliminating a lot of hard work! Actually, it is a good plan if I cooperate, which I haven’t done in 37 years! If you can read her mind, she is thinking: “He can’t even do that right!”

An old man was lying in his deathbed. His bedroom was situated on the top floor of the old farmhouse, and in the bed the sweet smell of chocolate chip cookies was waffling up to his nostrils from the kitchen down below. In spite of his dire condition, he was moved to get a cookie or two before he died.

Slipping out of the bed, on all fours he crawled to the staircase and slowly crawled down each step. The sweat was starting to pour from his head, the aches and pains of impending death wrapped around his body. Slowly, one step at a time he reached the main floor. Resting for a while, he began his journey to its final destination: the kitchen.

As the old dying man turned the corner to the kitchen, he could see his wife busily baking cookies and putting them on wracks to cool, atop a the kitchen table.

“Ah!” he thought. “Warm chocolate chip cookies!” Slowly he creped up to the table, and raised his hand to snatch one. Suddenly his wife let loose with a spatula across the old man’s hand. WHACK! Went the spatula. “DON’T TOUCH THOSE COOKIES, THEY’RE FOR AFTER YOUR FUNERAL!”

Please remember my pals, Joan and DD, and all those who need our prayer.