A month ago I would have made the perfect husband for someone. I’d probably still be pretty good at the job, but not as good as I would have been a month ago. And a month from now, I’ll likely be even worse.
What I’m saying is, ladies, it’s probably a good time to get those marriage proposals to me, because I’m sinking fast. I know this because of the dirt on the dining room carpet.
Maybe I’d better back up a bit and start over.
The Former Lovely Mrs. You Know Who was a neatness fanatic. Our house was spotless, 24/7, due not only to her enthusiastic daily cleaning regimen, but also to the years of training she put into me.
Like a puppy eager to please, I learned to leave muddy shoes on the doorstep, to fold the bathroom towels two times, horizontally, before hanging them squarely on the rack. I learned to stack used cups on the proper “to be washed” section of the kitchen counter, rather than leaving them wherever I last drank from them. I learned to drop dirty socks into the hamper instead of leaving them stuffed in my sneakers.
In an effort to pacify the Former Mrs. T, I learned all these tricks and about a million more just like them. I wasn’t always happy with the training regimen, but one makes sacrifices for the sake of domestic bliss, or if not bliss, then at least tranquility. (I know there are about a zillion husbands out there reading this right now and thinking, “You got that one right, pal!”)
Then one day the master was gone.
At first, like a puppy, I wandered around the empty rooms whining, not sure exactly what happened. Like a puppy, I was a little scared and lonely.
But slowly, things changed. I realized I wasn’t a puppy anymore, but a big dog. (And yeah, I realize there’s more than one way to take this analogy – I’m running with it anyway.)
I could come and go as I pleased, no longer tethered to my master’s leash. If my collar was feeling snug, I could just chew it off and nobody would yell Bad Dog! Moreover, with the master gone, the house was mine!
OK, enough with the dog analogy. The point is, I slowly came to realize I could fold the towels any which way and there would be no repercussions, no remonstrations. I could walk through mud, cow pies and pools of battery acid, then tap dance on the flippin’ sofa if I took a mind to. I could (gasp!) leave my empty coffee cup on the end table for days and nobody would say anything about it!
I know it’s hard for you long-time bachelors to understand the feeling of liberation that accompanied these epiphanies, but lemme tell ya, it was pure ecstasy.
Of course, like any good dog (I know I told you the dog analogy was over. I lied) I retained most of my training, but it is fading fast. Six months from now, I’ll undoubtedly be more or less feral, running through the woods, howling at the moon and living wild and free on a diet of murdered woodchucks and creek water.
So any woman interested in marrying me better do it quick, unless she wants to start my training over from Ground Zero. So far I haven’t tap danced on the sofa while wearing muddy shoes, but the idea is now in my head; it’s only a matter of time. Yesterday, I tracked dirt onto the dining room carpet after working in the garage. The dirt is still there and I’m feeling no pressing urge to vacuum it up.
The kibble the master left behind is almost gone. There was a full moon last night and I found myself in the back yard, gazing up at it through the lattice of maple leaves, and wondering how a woodchuck might taste.
Owrhooooooooo!
Missed a week? More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at
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