A Woman's Work is Never Done!

A Woman’s Work is Never Done!

 

Yeah, well that’s what the Missus says as she’s busily dustin’ off my desk an’ putin’ things away in places that only she knows about. It’s got so I make for my office whenever I see her armed with her dust mop. That thing is like one o’ them AK47’s in her hands. You never know what’s gonna get hit next. So half my time is spent in the office on guard duty rather than doin’ anythin’ productive.

Well an’ that ain’t the only thing neither. Dollars to donuts I could easy get a job in an art gallery hangin’ pictures up too. It ain’t nothin to see a bunch o’ pictures on the floor, leaned up against the wall when I get up in the mornin’. It seems she’s been dreamin’ about or schemin’ about re-arrangin’ how things ought to look an nothin’ satisfies her ‘til it’s done. Even then it’s not a for sure thing neither. It could last a coupl’a days or weeks even, but eventually . . . . . . well, she has another vision.

Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t complainin’, far from it. How else would I get the kind of entertainment offered up by these antics? It’s like mock war games to keep up with all the goin’s on. Reminds me of that old couple we knew in the square dancing club we belonged to years ago. They’d lived in England durin’ WWII an’ he was in the Home Guard. She had a different motivation for movin’ stuff around. She was nervous about bombs an’ doin’ that sorta thing occupied her time.

You got to remember that in them days there was total blackouts to confuse the Germans. Well, after about two or three days without much sleep, the guy comes home, dead tired. Not wantin’ to wake the wife, he creeps in, pulls off his boots an’ flops on the bed. Imagine his surprise when the bed wasn’t where it was the last time he flopped into it.

Well thank goodness my Missus don’t go THAT far. At our age, if we missed the bed, we’d likely end up in the hip replacement department of the local hospital. Although I gotta say she come pretty close the other day when she informed me that them two big horkin pictures in the bedroom hadda get changed around. Well I couldn’t do anythin’ about it cause they were already layin’ on the bed where I wanted to have a nap. So, grumblin’ under my breath (so she wouldn’t hear) I make a new nail hole an’ hang the one right over the bed. Shame, really. I liked to look at that one across the room while I was dozin’ off. Then I hung that heavy sucker over the Missus’ dresser an went to bed. Layin’ there, still mutterin’ under my breath I look up an’ notice the one over the dresser is that big petty-point of a boy layin’ on a hill, day dreamin’ about the clouds in the sky. Well if that don’t beat all! That’s just the mood I’m in, an’ I promptly fall asleep. Don’t you just hate it when the Missus is always right? To tell the truth, I hope her work is never done. The only thing is, I’m puttin’ a police tape around my office. She has a healthy respect for authority. At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin’.