I Can Take You...

My wife and I have this playful, ongoing battle for dominance in our house. For instance, whenever I act insubordinate, she’ll tell me, “You better watch it. I may be a woman, but I can still take you, little man.”

I have started to reply in a like manner whenever she is acting unruly. I will puff up my chest, throw my shoulders back, look her straight in the eyes, and say, “Well I can take you with both of your arms tied behind your back!”

The Irish Coffee

When I was in college, I was dating this girl who by no means was an alcoholic, but who did like to imbibe an occasional Irish coffee now and then. One evening we had gone out to dinner with a few of my friends, and she decided to have one of these Irish coffees. Upon learning that it contained alcohol, I refused to let her drive herself home. I explained that even a drop of alcohol was enough to begin impairing her senses, and she would become both a danger to herself and others on the road. After a few rounds of heated debating, she finally consented.

I got in her car to drive her home with one of my friends following in my car, so I could get back. I threw the car in reverse and let the car start rolling out of the parking space, backing over a motorcycle parked on the other side of the lot. I looked over at my girlfriend, face rapidly turning red, and waited for the comment I knew was coming. She didn’t let me down responding, “And I’m the drunk one?!”

Working the Remote for Dummies

My wife and I got this new TV cable system put into our home. It has all the latest toys…HDTV, DVR, the works! However, my wife has had a bit of difficulty working all the options and features, esp. recording and later watching shows on the DVR.

So, as a joke I got her a book called, “Working the Remote for Dummies.” Needless to say it went over like a screen door on a submarine. But in good humor, she read the book anyway.

Today, I discovered the fatal flaw to my plan. Somehow she managed to block all of the stations that I normally watch, primarily my football-all-the-time channels. She also somehow upgraded the remote with some genometrics, so that it only recognizes her DNA pattern. The worst part is that I can’t figure out how to undo what she’s done. I was forced to have to walk across the room to change the channel this evening, which every self-respecting guy out there knows is out of the question. This can’t go on like this!

So, here I sit reading “Working the Remote for Dummies.” Where IS that chapter on removing genometrics from the remote?

Dangerous Household Projects

I sprained my wrist this weekend. I know on the surface that isn’t so extraordinary, but if I throw in that I sprained my wrist cooking, then it becomes interesting.

I wonder how many cooking-related injuries are reported every year. I’m not talking about major things like suffering severe burns or chopping a finger off, but the more minor ones. Injuries like singing your eyebrows off, or getting popped while you’re cooking your bacon naked, or perhaps spraining your wrist while dumping your macaroni into a colander.

But I digress…

In fact, I was injured several times this weekend, and no not all due to cooking. I hurt my back unloading a shelving unit from the car. I pulled a muscle in my leg and jammed my finger while hanging a curtain rod. I sliced my finger open on a tape dispenser razor. And I got hit in the head by a falling microwave!

The moral of this story is that those little household projects are dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

Misconceptions About Texans

When I first got to Missouri, having migrated from Texas, there were two things that everyone said to me. The first was an observation that I didn’t have a Texas accent. I responded by asking them what exactly a Texas accent sounded like. The answer was always the same. I would get an impression of some Southern hick-sounding person. As if all the people in Texas are backwoods and unedumacated. I assured everyone that lots of Texans talk like “normal” people. While there are those people that have the typical Southern accent, we refuse to acknowledge that such people exist and definitely do not claim such people as relatives should we be so unfortunate to have them in the family.

The second remark was always the same question. “Did you ride a horse everywhere you went?” At this point I was thoroughly insulted by such insinuations, so I would normally look them straight in the eyes and say, “Of course, everyone does. There is a hitching post located outside every store and restaurant. Whereas you probably had bicycle racks at school, we just had hitching posts.”

“Really?” they’d ask, amazed at the primitiveness of my past life.

“Absolutely. Of course only the nicest, more up-scale places had watering troughs, though. The rest of the time your horse just drank out of a puddle.”

“How’d you keep them from getting stolen?”

“Well, if you came out and your horse was gone, then you just took someone else’s. Everyone knows that’s how it’s done, so it’s not alarming to see it happen.”

“That’s amazing! I was just kidding when I asked. I had no idea.”

“A truer statement was never uttered.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”