I’ve been married for over 56 years, but I can’t remember to whom. Maybe it’s that old guy that I keep seeing around the house. It appears I’m sleeping with him, too.
I’ve been reliably told by my actual wife that the guy in your house can’t be me for two reasons. First, because my wife can vouch for my whereabouts at nearly all times, and second, and possibly more importantly, you’ve been married for only one year less than I’ve been alive, making the idea that it’s to me somewhat problematic, though, granted, not impossible.
There's also actual sharing of sensory organs. My wife is short-sighted and at night she has to locate large objects, such as our house, by touch. I, on the other hand, don't wear glasses; my vision is still pretty good. So I'm the seeing-eye husband. My hearing has lost a lot of bandwidth though, thanks to listening to too many bands, such as the Rock Bottom Remainders. Plus I had my left eardrum surgically replaced when I was 27. (I'm not making that up.) Consequently, I can't hear worth shit. However, my wife is the all-seeing ear-not to mix metaphors. She can hear me setting the dial on the dryer from two floors away and instantly knows if I used the wrong setting. Thankfully we still have our hair and our teeth.
I looked Gene up and was fascinated to find out that according to Wikipedia: "From 1981 to 1990, Weingarten was editor of the Miami Herald Sunday magazine, Tropic. In 1984, he hired Dave Barry, giving one of America's best-known humor columnists his big break." Gene himself was also no slouch in the humor department.
After my wife died, I had to activate a part of my brain that I didn't know even existed, listening sympathetically to my daughter go on and on about the trials and tribulations of her love life. This involved some after-market add-ins as the factory installed, "Just dump him already!" that all dads come with simply did not work in this situation.
Hanging out by the front door carrying a hockey stick didn't work as planned. Perhaps, I should have used one of my newer, whippier, composite ones instead of the trusty, wooden Sher-wood 5030.
Ah yes, the "icing" approach favored by northern brethren. I found a wild-eyed look while cleaning a shotgun often did the trick or beginning (and, of course, ending...) a discussion of stool identification.
Were you trying to imitate the 1950s dads? I thought they were pretty much dead.
My generation, think hippies, was different. My dead spouse was a modern guy. He just didn't happen to be in the room, or the house, when daughter's guy friends appeared.
I read this to my wife. At the end, she said: "The reason for this is because married people, both men and women, live longer than single people. Married people are more likely to get dementia because they survive longer than single people." She said this with a look and tone that indicated this was the correct and only acceptable answer, so no further discussion on this topic would be necessary.
Yes. My late husband could stand right in front of the appropriate open drawer in the kitchen and ask me where such-and-such a utensil was. More often than not, it was right in front of him, and, on more than one occasion, I was sorely tempted to use it on him.
And, P.S., Dave: The man deals with the bugs and spiders. It's in the marriage contract. Read the fine print.
In this marriage, spiders have devolved to me. We both respect spiders, especially the giant house spider (Woody Allen: "It's the size of a Buick!"), but my husband calls for help, and I'm the one who fetches the glass or cup and the card for the catch and release outside (where I apologize: "I know, I know, you're a house spider, you don't want to be out here. Sorry!").
In my house Deb is cooker of meals, doer of laundry (I am no longer allowed anywhere near the Washer and Drier) and does most domestic chores. Like vacuuming. Left to me we'd be wading through dust up to our knees.
She also occasionally tears down perfectly good “window treatments” (curtains) and replaces them with other, newer rectangles of cloth. I have never understood this but it appears to make her happy.
I am the keeper of apps, fixer of electronics, mower of lawns, killer of spiders and moths.
Occasionally I empty the dishwasher unasked, which is celebrated as if I just cured cancer.
In other words, I'm married to a saint who should have kicked me to the curb a long time ago. June 21 will be our 45th anniversary.
Since early November, I have outsourced watching tv news to my husband. I am now much happier. By definition, this is proof that my intellect is fading.
The last time I did laundry I was single. About 39 years ago. My wife is in charge of that one. Sometimes I'll try to be helpful and suggest I do laundry and I get the don't-even-think-about-it stare. "You can empty the hamper, though" she says sweetly. She once had to go out of town for several weeks. Walking out the door she said, "don't even think about doing laundry. I don't trust you. Your daughter has been drafted." Yes, but I can empty the hamper...
Due to an unintended run in with a sweater that should have been hand washed ending up in the washer (followed by the dryer) many years ago, actually decades, I am allowed only to wash towels (and we've gone to all white so I can't mess them up by god forbid mixing in a color) and my own underwear. But not at the same time. Oh, I can also wash the rags that I use for car cleaning. But not with the towels.
Dave, thing about plumbers you may have noticed is they grunt a lot and make plumbing like gurgling and other water-related noises. They also carry large implements which they use to professionally bang on things before making more water-related noises, sometimes accompanied by a sigh and what's known in the trade as a tsk or a tut. The difference is around $250. And Dave, a little insider info. Dude Wipes, also known as the plumber's friend, are really not flushable. They lie there just out of sight until 4:00 am when you arrive for your second (third?) visit of the night and then immediately clump together. This causes an overflow and a recorded message from that 24-hour plumbing service, something to the effect of, "I've taken enough shit for the day."
So… the problem with the study is it’s taking place in Florida where the couples studied ranged in age from 74 ( those kids) to 113….so you and Michelle do not have dementia but I’m sure we could find a spectrum (or 5) for you….thanks again for for bringing comic relief to us poor Madhatters….you are the zen master of the Rabbit Hole (in addition to your career in Neuroscience of course…..
I’ve been married for over 56 years, but I can’t remember to whom. Maybe it’s that old guy that I keep seeing around the house. It appears I’m sleeping with him, too.
Wait! Do you mean the old guy with the shorts? That’s ME!
Hmm. Jeffrey…Jeffr.. Oh! Now I remember! 🤣
I’ve been reliably told by my actual wife that the guy in your house can’t be me for two reasons. First, because my wife can vouch for my whereabouts at nearly all times, and second, and possibly more importantly, you’ve been married for only one year less than I’ve been alive, making the idea that it’s to me somewhat problematic, though, granted, not impossible.
There's also actual sharing of sensory organs. My wife is short-sighted and at night she has to locate large objects, such as our house, by touch. I, on the other hand, don't wear glasses; my vision is still pretty good. So I'm the seeing-eye husband. My hearing has lost a lot of bandwidth though, thanks to listening to too many bands, such as the Rock Bottom Remainders. Plus I had my left eardrum surgically replaced when I was 27. (I'm not making that up.) Consequently, I can't hear worth shit. However, my wife is the all-seeing ear-not to mix metaphors. She can hear me setting the dial on the dryer from two floors away and instantly knows if I used the wrong setting. Thankfully we still have our hair and our teeth.
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
IIRC, "the all-seeing ear" was a column Gene Weingarten had in The Post back in the last century sometime.
I looked Gene up and was fascinated to find out that according to Wikipedia: "From 1981 to 1990, Weingarten was editor of the Miami Herald Sunday magazine, Tropic. In 1984, he hired Dave Barry, giving one of America's best-known humor columnists his big break." Gene himself was also no slouch in the humor department.
Thanks! I'll check that out.
Its the old joke about two older gentleman walking out of a Friday night Shabbat service.
First Guy: Man, your cantor can really sing. What's his name?
Second Guy: I don't remember but what is the flower that you wear in your lapel at a wedding?
First Guy: A rose?
Second guy: Yeah, that's it. And turning to his wife says "Rose, what's the name of our cantor?
Oh my. I’ll be laughing my butt off on that joke all day. 🤣🤣🤣
Good one.
After my wife died, I had to activate a part of my brain that I didn't know even existed, listening sympathetically to my daughter go on and on about the trials and tribulations of her love life. This involved some after-market add-ins as the factory installed, "Just dump him already!" that all dads come with simply did not work in this situation.
Wait. You allowed your daughter a love life?
Hanging out by the front door carrying a hockey stick didn't work as planned. Perhaps, I should have used one of my newer, whippier, composite ones instead of the trusty, wooden Sher-wood 5030.
Ah yes, the "icing" approach favored by northern brethren. I found a wild-eyed look while cleaning a shotgun often did the trick or beginning (and, of course, ending...) a discussion of stool identification.
Were you trying to imitate the 1950s dads? I thought they were pretty much dead.
My generation, think hippies, was different. My dead spouse was a modern guy. He just didn't happen to be in the room, or the house, when daughter's guy friends appeared.
Getting married was the best decision I ever made. It was also the last decision I ever made.
I read this to my wife. At the end, she said: "The reason for this is because married people, both men and women, live longer than single people. Married people are more likely to get dementia because they survive longer than single people." She said this with a look and tone that indicated this was the correct and only acceptable answer, so no further discussion on this topic would be necessary.
It may be true that married men live longer than bachelors, but married men are far more willing to die😉. Married women too, probably!
🤣🤣🤣 Dark humor runs in our family.
Well, yeah. Pfft. 🤣
You forgot lizards.
True, but I already wrote about that.
So basically you're saying that married folks are the same as orange cats....
Yes! Exactly!
Yes. My late husband could stand right in front of the appropriate open drawer in the kitchen and ask me where such-and-such a utensil was. More often than not, it was right in front of him, and, on more than one occasion, I was sorely tempted to use it on him.
And, P.S., Dave: The man deals with the bugs and spiders. It's in the marriage contract. Read the fine print.
In this marriage, spiders have devolved to me. We both respect spiders, especially the giant house spider (Woody Allen: "It's the size of a Buick!"), but my husband calls for help, and I'm the one who fetches the glass or cup and the card for the catch and release outside (where I apologize: "I know, I know, you're a house spider, you don't want to be out here. Sorry!").
You could do a Dave Barry and make noises like you’re evicting the spider and just let it stay….you learn a lot of important things from this column….
Yes, indeed. Very important things. That's why I try to stay an Alert Reader.
Id bet most of the YES answers came from wives, and the I'D HAVE TO ASK MY SPOUSE answers came from husbands.
In my house Deb is cooker of meals, doer of laundry (I am no longer allowed anywhere near the Washer and Drier) and does most domestic chores. Like vacuuming. Left to me we'd be wading through dust up to our knees.
She also occasionally tears down perfectly good “window treatments” (curtains) and replaces them with other, newer rectangles of cloth. I have never understood this but it appears to make her happy.
I am the keeper of apps, fixer of electronics, mower of lawns, killer of spiders and moths.
Occasionally I empty the dishwasher unasked, which is celebrated as if I just cured cancer.
In other words, I'm married to a saint who should have kicked me to the curb a long time ago. June 21 will be our 45th anniversary.
Wait… what was I saying?
Since early November, I have outsourced watching tv news to my husband. I am now much happier. By definition, this is proof that my intellect is fading.
On the contrary! Your intellect surely increased. If only I had someone to outsource to...
The last time I did laundry I was single. About 39 years ago. My wife is in charge of that one. Sometimes I'll try to be helpful and suggest I do laundry and I get the don't-even-think-about-it stare. "You can empty the hamper, though" she says sweetly. She once had to go out of town for several weeks. Walking out the door she said, "don't even think about doing laundry. I don't trust you. Your daughter has been drafted." Yes, but I can empty the hamper...
Due to an unintended run in with a sweater that should have been hand washed ending up in the washer (followed by the dryer) many years ago, actually decades, I am allowed only to wash towels (and we've gone to all white so I can't mess them up by god forbid mixing in a color) and my own underwear. But not at the same time. Oh, I can also wash the rags that I use for car cleaning. But not with the towels.
Dave, thing about plumbers you may have noticed is they grunt a lot and make plumbing like gurgling and other water-related noises. They also carry large implements which they use to professionally bang on things before making more water-related noises, sometimes accompanied by a sigh and what's known in the trade as a tsk or a tut. The difference is around $250. And Dave, a little insider info. Dude Wipes, also known as the plumber's friend, are really not flushable. They lie there just out of sight until 4:00 am when you arrive for your second (third?) visit of the night and then immediately clump together. This causes an overflow and a recorded message from that 24-hour plumbing service, something to the effect of, "I've taken enough shit for the day."
This is sort of a volatile topic approached by Dave with his characteristic sagacity and sensitivity. Well done, Dave. This is why I buy your books.
I lived in Sagacity for a while, but then we moved to the suburbs.
Ahahahhahahahhaa!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣
So… the problem with the study is it’s taking place in Florida where the couples studied ranged in age from 74 ( those kids) to 113….so you and Michelle do not have dementia but I’m sure we could find a spectrum (or 5) for you….thanks again for for bringing comic relief to us poor Madhatters….you are the zen master of the Rabbit Hole (in addition to your career in Neuroscience of course…..