Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Busted!



I received this wonderful Father's Day Card from Sweetie One (a.k.a. The Mothership) and her husband, codename: Duffer, while Stomps With Foot (SWF) was helping out with the new granddaughter in New Braunfels. Funny how I seem to not really bother with eating when SWF is out of town. I tend to live on things that are not particularly good for you, but are quick and easy. Things like snouts, lips, eyelids and sphincters Vienna Sausage and of course, my old standby of Pickapeppa Sauce on cream cheese which is globbed on Trisquits. Mmmmmm. You can read about my bachelor eating habits here as it still holds true today. A cold beer and something easy to make.

I must've let too many things sit in the refrigerator during SWFs absence. I thought I had thrown away everything I thought had either gone bad and had furry green mold on it (some of the mold was really fascinating) or had expired. A bunch of black-skinned bananas; a pizza that had been purchased before she left for a week was particularly fascinating.

I missed throwing out some other things though, which leads SWF to the usual question about what I had been doing with myself for the last week or so, "Why didn't you eat such-and-such, I just have to throw it away now?" Funny how a woman you've been married to for 35 years can just look into the refrigerator or cast a glance at the cupboard and know, instantly, what you've been having for meals, whether or not you go to the store before she comes home. She likes grouping "like things" together. An indelibly-etched lessin over from the first grade, no doubt. But with a single glance, she knows what's missing and what's not. She is smart like that. So I guess pouring the old milk down the drain wasn't enough! You'd think I'd have figured this out a long time ago.

One tends to take so many things for granted when one is married for 35 years, or even for one year for that matter.

So the card from Sweetie One and Duffer was particularly on target. The inside of the card reads … Around the kitchen, out the door, and to a good restaurant.

I love it when my children, too, prove they really know their dad. Sort of, sort of not.