R
Robert Harrison
Guest
Mumble Mumble, Grumble Grumble
Impatient as always, I grumbled to myself at your tardiness every time we wanted to go out. Why is it that I can be ready well before time, but you my dearest wife take ages to get ready that Satan himself would have given you up as a lost cause.
I walk the hallway, look out of the window, and check my watch for the umpteenth time. I sit and then stand, look at the paper that I had just put down. I check the crossword that you left unfinished and fail miserably to answer the clues that you seem to find so easy.
What is it about women that infuriate men so. You boast to your girl friends that it has taken you all of your married life to get me to that stage of perfection that is acceptable, but not satisfactory; not yet anyway. HE STILL HAS A LONG WAY TO GO. You tell them, but he is getting there.
Getting where I would like to know. Do I not do the washing up after our meals, do I not give you breakfast in bed when I am not going out. When you say that you will accompany me on my morning walk, do I not wait and wait, and then have to walk at the pace that is comfortable to you. At the end of our walk my heart says WHAT DO YOU CALL THAT, I AM NOT EVEN BEATING ANY FASTER.
And what about your toenails am I not willing to trim them because you find that they are to far from your arms. Perhaps I had better not buy you any more blocks of chocolate. I do not mind my dear but why do you have to eat half of my block as well. You do not even like dark chocolate.
Why is it that we have to leave when you say so, why not when I say we should be going. OH WE HAVE PLENTY OF TIME you say. I agree we do have plenty of time if I travel at light speed when the speed limit is only sixty kilometres an hour.
DARLING I AM READY I hear you call. About blooming time I think as you walk out of the bedroom.
Oh my goodness, she is beautiful.
Impatient as always, I grumbled to myself at your tardiness every time we wanted to go out. Why is it that I can be ready well before time, but you my dearest wife take ages to get ready that Satan himself would have given you up as a lost cause.
I walk the hallway, look out of the window, and check my watch for the umpteenth time. I sit and then stand, look at the paper that I had just put down. I check the crossword that you left unfinished and fail miserably to answer the clues that you seem to find so easy.
What is it about women that infuriate men so. You boast to your girl friends that it has taken you all of your married life to get me to that stage of perfection that is acceptable, but not satisfactory; not yet anyway. HE STILL HAS A LONG WAY TO GO. You tell them, but he is getting there.
Getting where I would like to know. Do I not do the washing up after our meals, do I not give you breakfast in bed when I am not going out. When you say that you will accompany me on my morning walk, do I not wait and wait, and then have to walk at the pace that is comfortable to you. At the end of our walk my heart says WHAT DO YOU CALL THAT, I AM NOT EVEN BEATING ANY FASTER.
And what about your toenails am I not willing to trim them because you find that they are to far from your arms. Perhaps I had better not buy you any more blocks of chocolate. I do not mind my dear but why do you have to eat half of my block as well. You do not even like dark chocolate.
Why is it that we have to leave when you say so, why not when I say we should be going. OH WE HAVE PLENTY OF TIME you say. I agree we do have plenty of time if I travel at light speed when the speed limit is only sixty kilometres an hour.
DARLING I AM READY I hear you call. About blooming time I think as you walk out of the bedroom.
Oh my goodness, she is beautiful.
