|
MY WIFE IS GUNNING FOR A DIVORCE
|
|
This used to be a section devoted to my reactions regarding actual hostile emails, caustic Yelp reviews, and lurid suggestions carved into local bar restroom stalls with large, sharp knives.
Apparently, I've scared all you haters into just hitting the Unsubscribe Button instead of letting me "have it" with your tiny, malnourished brains and limited vocabularies.
Thusly, this once-great section of the newsletter has clearly devolved into me just being an irritating, whiny milquetoast with no real adversary.
Well done, people. Well done. I thank you for the DEVO, or the De-Evolution.
|
|
|
|
We must whip it now.
Whip it good.
Look, I'm a simple man. I don't ask for a lot. Sure, I have strange, unpleasant desires, but who doesn't? One of my many strange desires is to walk around my own home completely and utterly stark naked as the proverbial jaybird. That is my right as a perverted U.S. Citizen as much as it is my right to use as many clichés in a single sentence as I see fit.
And I like to pee off my own deck. Even in winter. But that's another half-dozen We Love Hate Mails (WLHMs) I don't have enough time or liquor to write.
|
|
|
|
ANYWAY....
One warm, humid day in early September, my wife was visiting friends From Away and I had the whole cabin to myself. She even had the dogs.
I was completely alone, and looking forward to a day of casually lying around my castle completely naked and flexing whatever testosterone I had left in this squalid, abused 50-ish body.
Alas, my much-anticipated day was ruined (or ruint, as a Mainer would say) before it even started BY MY WIFE over 500 miles away.
And I shan't EVER forgive her.
EVER.
|
|
|
|
Usually, it took me 45 minutes to get ready for work. Those 45 minutes were chock full of hectic showering, rotten tooth brushing, giving reluctant dogs their medicine, sussing out where Auggie hid his pee / poo from the previous night, feeding my ravenous dogs hugely overpriced food, and feeding myself dehydrated bricks of wallpaper paste hot from the toaster, self-shoved into my voracious maw for breakfast, and the actual 30-minute commute into Boothbay Harbor behind a late-model Lincoln Continental with Florida plates, and nothing visible over the headrests except the occasional fedora or cowboy hat.
So the ability to just wake up, shower, lazily run a comb through my fine, thinning hair and eating a properly toasted bagel was exhilarating.
I exited the bathroom in the most nude way I could, and made my way to the kitchen for that properly-toasted bagel.
|
|
That's when I saw the young man staring in at me from the sliding glass door.
Undeterred, I advanced on the young man who turned his head like he just saw an accident involving a school bus full of children on fire. I could also hear him utter a muffled "Oh God."
"Yes?" I inquired.
"Your wife hired us to treat the lawn for grubs."
"Grub away, my friend. Grub your little guts out."
|
|
|
|
I strolled casually to my kitchen, cut a bagel in half, and put it in the toaster.
It was clear what was going on. My wife was trying to destroy my Pants-Free day. She would never get away with it.
When I left, The Grubber made sure to be as far from me as possible despite me wearing all requisite clothes.
But to be fair, I WAS going commando.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-
I was exhausted after a long day at the shop trying to convince people that I didn't send their order to Toxicity, Idaho, or otherwise control the Post Office. I was looking forward to a little nude nap on the couch to refresh and reset myself for a busy afternoon of losing people's mail.
|
|
No sooner had I cast off my Shorts and T-Shirt of Nude Oppression and fallen into a satisfyingly deep, drool-filled sleep, had a small army of cleaning personnel invaded the cabin.
They were cute, bubbly, young women and did not deserve to see what appeared to be a pale, white Beluga Whale carcass decomposing on a couch they were supposed to clean.
They turned their heads, some amused and some bemused, but all in agreement that they could never clean this cabin again. Some said they could possibly never clean again.
|
|
|
|
It was obvious to me that Liana was controlling the cabin's puppet strings from far away to keep me sleep-deprived and under a constant attack from outsiders. She was engaged in a war of attrition whilst I was playing checkers.
It was like our cross-country trip when she suggested we eat at a "Great Little BBQ Joint" in St. Louis, only to make me crush my trucks' door against a tightly-placed column. Sure. I crushed my door, but I wouldn't have if we went some place she wanted to go.
|
|
|
|
I put my doggie pajamas on, turned on the Sox, and tucked away childish dreams of nakedness lest she told the neighbors I was having a party.
-- Don (Not a Dog)
|
|
|
|
|
