Sunday, August 26, 2007
I'm a Wuss
I'm not exactly sure what a wuss is, but as I understand it, a wuss is a person who will not stand up for his rights, even when he knows he's right, because he doesn't want to deal with the consequences. As a result, he capitulates, and just does what he is told.
Each summer, my wife packs up as soon as the school year ends and heads out to our summer home in Wyoming. I head out there when I can, but generally, since I have this annoying thing to deal with called "clients", it's not as much as I would like. My wife returns home just before Labor Day all refreshed and ready for the new school year. I return to my normal lifestyle, which bears a vague resemblance to something with large bags under its' eyes. In the interim, my sons and I live a "man's life" at home, which means that there are lots of ballgames on the television, which are not interrupted or sullied with continuous complaints that we love the games more than we love her, laundry is done based solely on the time honored tradition of when clean underwear has run out, and daily menus are set by whatever the special at the local takeout is that day. This year has been extra special on this last point, as the boys both work at a local pizzeria, and get to take home the leftovers at the end of the day. I will have to check before the wife comes home to see if the oven still works.
Before heading out west, Mrs. Graber usually leaves behind her a list of chores she would like to see done before she returns. High atop the list every year is making sure her garden looks good when she gets home. My wife takes great pride in her garden. In high bloom it does look very colorful and nice. On the other hand, I could care less about caring for a garden, which basically means that I have to go out in the heat and humidity every day and pull weeds, which many times I cannot tell from her "babies". One year, I managed to pull out an entire section of the garden she had devoted to growing herbs, a mistake that might have been repeated this year for all I know. At least when she got home, that section of the garden looked clean, as opposed to the rest of the garden. I have suggested in the past that I will "take care" of her garden while she is gone by plowing it under and placing sod over it. Apparently, when this was said, it was not what she wanted to hear. I became intimate for the next few nights with the pillows on the sofa in the living room.
So this summer has been a "man's life" once again. TV dinners have been all the rage. I have caught up with every sports stat known to man, and a few that aren't. Somewhere in the house is a collection of undershirts, although I haven't the slightest idea of where. They certainly aren't in the drawer where they were when she left. The boys and I have cheerfully experimented once again with seeing how high dirty laundry, junk mail, old shoes and plain old stuff can pile on the porch before the windows blow out. I have even gone out for a beer or two, toasting my freedom that enables me to do what I want. All the while, we keep saying that if my wife wanted the house to look and smell clean, she would be here in New York with us instead of by herself in Wyoming, so when she returns, she will get what she deserves.
Well...
Tomorrow morning, I head out to Wyoming. When I return, she will be back in New York with me. That means today is the last day of "It's a Man's Life, 2007". I could observe the occasion in a number of ways. There is plenty of beer in the refrigerator (along with old take out containers which might even go back to last summer). According to the TV Guide, there are lots of ballgames on the tube today. There's a great band scheduled to play a gig at my favorite jazz club in the city tonight.
But I don't want to be yelled at, given mean looks or sent to whisper sweet nothings to the pillows on the living room sofa when I get back. I am presently on the ninth load of the weekend in the washing machine. There are at least three more to go. I will spend the rest of the day, cleaning the porch, the refrigerator, and even my office so that it looks nice and pretty when we get back. I may even clean the bathroom floor, including the dreaded netherland behind the toilet. The garden is on its own.
I'm a wuss.
Each summer, my wife packs up as soon as the school year ends and heads out to our summer home in Wyoming. I head out there when I can, but generally, since I have this annoying thing to deal with called "clients", it's not as much as I would like. My wife returns home just before Labor Day all refreshed and ready for the new school year. I return to my normal lifestyle, which bears a vague resemblance to something with large bags under its' eyes. In the interim, my sons and I live a "man's life" at home, which means that there are lots of ballgames on the television, which are not interrupted or sullied with continuous complaints that we love the games more than we love her, laundry is done based solely on the time honored tradition of when clean underwear has run out, and daily menus are set by whatever the special at the local takeout is that day. This year has been extra special on this last point, as the boys both work at a local pizzeria, and get to take home the leftovers at the end of the day. I will have to check before the wife comes home to see if the oven still works.
Before heading out west, Mrs. Graber usually leaves behind her a list of chores she would like to see done before she returns. High atop the list every year is making sure her garden looks good when she gets home. My wife takes great pride in her garden. In high bloom it does look very colorful and nice. On the other hand, I could care less about caring for a garden, which basically means that I have to go out in the heat and humidity every day and pull weeds, which many times I cannot tell from her "babies". One year, I managed to pull out an entire section of the garden she had devoted to growing herbs, a mistake that might have been repeated this year for all I know. At least when she got home, that section of the garden looked clean, as opposed to the rest of the garden. I have suggested in the past that I will "take care" of her garden while she is gone by plowing it under and placing sod over it. Apparently, when this was said, it was not what she wanted to hear. I became intimate for the next few nights with the pillows on the sofa in the living room.
So this summer has been a "man's life" once again. TV dinners have been all the rage. I have caught up with every sports stat known to man, and a few that aren't. Somewhere in the house is a collection of undershirts, although I haven't the slightest idea of where. They certainly aren't in the drawer where they were when she left. The boys and I have cheerfully experimented once again with seeing how high dirty laundry, junk mail, old shoes and plain old stuff can pile on the porch before the windows blow out. I have even gone out for a beer or two, toasting my freedom that enables me to do what I want. All the while, we keep saying that if my wife wanted the house to look and smell clean, she would be here in New York with us instead of by herself in Wyoming, so when she returns, she will get what she deserves.
Well...
Tomorrow morning, I head out to Wyoming. When I return, she will be back in New York with me. That means today is the last day of "It's a Man's Life, 2007". I could observe the occasion in a number of ways. There is plenty of beer in the refrigerator (along with old take out containers which might even go back to last summer). According to the TV Guide, there are lots of ballgames on the tube today. There's a great band scheduled to play a gig at my favorite jazz club in the city tonight.
But I don't want to be yelled at, given mean looks or sent to whisper sweet nothings to the pillows on the living room sofa when I get back. I am presently on the ninth load of the weekend in the washing machine. There are at least three more to go. I will spend the rest of the day, cleaning the porch, the refrigerator, and even my office so that it looks nice and pretty when we get back. I may even clean the bathroom floor, including the dreaded netherland behind the toilet. The garden is on its own.
I'm a wuss.
# posted by phg @ 5:42 AM 
