Wrong Thing To Say

In less than a week, the Pickle Queen and I will celebrate our 49th wedding anniversary. If anyone asks how long I’ve been married I say, “I’ve been happily married 4 years. There was 1970, 1986, 2001 and 2013,” and let it go at that. You can tell who’s listening to you and who is just being polite.

In one of those unhappy years, I went out drinking every night. And every night, the PQ would yell at me. One day one of PQ’s friends suggested that she try a different tack. “Welcome him home with a kiss and some loving words,” her friend suggested, “maybe he’ll change his ways.”

That night, I stumbled back home as usual. But instead of berating me, the PQ helped me into an easy chair, put my feet up onto a footstool, removed my shoes and gently massaged my neck.

“It’s late,” she whispered, “I think we should go upstairs to bed now, don’t you?”

“Might as well,” I replied, “I’ll get in trouble if I go home.”

Wrong thing to say!

Keep your fork


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