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Musings from Moyieboy ... |
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Old bachelors die hard |
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September 1, 2017 |
By Ken Carpenter
As time goes by, or to be more specific, as the
past nine years of married life go by, I am
beginning to notice a few things about myself.
The most important is, I am more like an old dog
than I would have guessed.
You know the old adage, “You can’t teach an old
dog new tricks.”
I always thought it was bunk, that any old hound
is capable of learning something new no matter
how set they are in their ways.
Well, it may not be as easy as I thought. As I
sit here scratching myself furiously with my
toenails, I am given time to reflect.
On a day long past, my late wife Joy turned on
the oven to preheat it for a coffee cake she was
making. Within minutes black smoke started
boiling into the kitchen, sending all four dogs
scurrying for the back room in fear of their
lives.
When questioned about the origin of this
phenomenon, I tried to play dumb, tilting my
head to the side and adopting my best expression
of blissful innocence. She saw right through it
and said, “What did you cook those hot dogs on
last night?”
“Do you mean those gourmet hot dogs with the
perfectly blackened skins and moist interiors,”
I asked.
“The very same,” she smirked.
Upon further analysis of the evidence, it might
not have been a good idea to just lay the
wieners on the oven rack and broil them. But
gee, who wants to dirty up a broiler pan just to
cook wieners?
That kind of thinking has become known around
our house as a bachelorism. Even though I am no
longer a bachelor, I spent seven years honing my
bachelor instincts. I stearted another go around
in 2114 and those instincts appear to have been
honed better than I thought.
A bachelor will go to great lengths to avoid
dirtying too many dishes, often using the same
coffee cup for a week. Whatever he cooks food in
will be the same thing he uses to store the food
in the fridge.
Socks, underwear and T-shirts should always be
sniffed before being tossed in the corner. Oh,
excuse me, in the hamper.
You should go to great lengths to murder any fly
in your house, because if you don’t they will
fight you for that sandwich that has been
sitting on the counter for two hours.
Flatulence is funny and foods that promote it
should be eaten in abundance.
Unfortunately, that brings another short tale to
mind. I informed Joy that I was going to cook
pork chops on sauerkraut for dinner, and she
informed me that she wouldn’t touch another bite
of kraut without taking some Bean-O. That
prompted a trip to the grocery store, and after
filling the cart with enough items to cover up
less savory purchases, we headed to the drug
aisle.
While she perused the different gas reducing
products I checked out the Preparation-H
section, having remembered I was running out on
the way to town. Seconds later a sweet lady
approached us to tell us she liked our movie
review, we thanked her, and then we looked at
each other.
She was holding a box of Bean-O and I was
holding a box of Preparation-H, and a look of
mortification crossed her face.
“What must she think!” she muttered.
Resigned, I shrugged my shoulders and muttered
back, “She probably just thinks she discovered
the definition of Mr. and Mrs. Anal Retentive.”
She cringed and I giggled. A bachelor grows used
to life’s little indignities, another of our
isms.
Oh yeah, I am a bachelor again, not of my
choosing but one nonetheless.
Maybe bachelorisms should just be called
manisms, if ya know what I mean. Of course, no
matter what our isms are called, our spouses
have to live with them.
Or retrain us, whichever comes first. |
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