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The
Missed Wife
by Peary Perry | |
Normally at
my house I only need two pair of underwear. The pair I have on and the pair that’s
in the washer or dryer. This however is not a normal week, as you may recall I
recently told you we had a new granddaughter. Now, for this reason my wife has
left me for a week to go over and help with the new baby. As a result my life
has been turned upside down in her absence. I’m not allowed to use the washer
after what I did to it the last time she went out of town. I’ll spare you that
story again.
For one thing, this house is way too big for just one person
and two dogs. I’m rattling around talking to myself and the dogs follow along,
but aren’t making any comments that I can understand. I cooked a big pot of red
beans and cornbread the night she left to hold me over. In the morning I eat Grape
Nuts and in the evening, beans and cornbread. Plenty of fiber this week, but getting
very old. I’m losing weight.
She normally loads the dishwasher and I
can’t tell if what I’ve put in there has been washed or not. So, I just rewash
everything over and over. Some of the patterns on the dishes are starting to fade.
Maybe I need to take some of them out and put them in the cabinet. Nope, can’t
remember if these are clean or not, won’t hurt to run it again.
Someone
once told me they thought they’d like to die one day after their wife did. I’m
beginning to agree with him. I’ll be looking into ways to make this happen. This
is not fun. I have watched way more television this week than I should have. I
watched five hours of Comedy Central the other night and only went to bed when
I realized I had seen everything at least twice. This is desperation entertainment
at its worst. This is also Errol Flynn month on one of the old movie channels.
Between Flynn and the old Bob Hope/ Bing Crosby road show movies, I’ve virtually
OD’d on TV this past week. Guilt is running out of my pores. I’ve misplaced my
book and can’t find it. I’m trying not to call everyone and admit I’m lonesome.
No one calls me. I take that back I’ve had six calls, two from the yard man and
two wrong numbers. The other two were for my wife. I could be dead in here and
who, besides the dogs, would ever know? They won’t talk.
She had some new
grass put in on the side of the house and the dogs have found it and spent all
week digging it up. I am convinced they talk to each other and are doing it just
to hack me off. I poured a whole bottle of chili powder on the grass, thinking
it might slow them down. They loved it. Came in with their muzzles bright red.
Not a tear in sight. Acted like nothing happened. I know they’re faking it, but
I can’t catch them. Next I dumped a large can; I mean a really big can, of black
pepper out on the grass. They rolled in it. Loved it. That night I’m on the couch
watching the aforementioned old movies and I can’t stop sneezing. I’m thinking
it’s the pollen from the trees. I take a couple of over the counter allergy pills
that keep me awake half the night. About 3am I realize what’s causing me to sneeze.
You’ve probably already thought about it, but I’m kind of slow this week. Don’t
seem to hitting on all cylinders. How much longer till she gets home. I run the
dishwasher again.
I decide to go to the store. No list and I’m really
hungry. Is this a recipe for a disaster or what? I buy everything I don’t need
and nothing that I do need. My plan was to cook something and give up the beans
and Grape Nuts diet, but now I’m stuck with TV dinners, cokes and ice cream. I
think the box the TV dinners came in probably has more taste than they do. I might
try that tonight, could use some salt. It must be some weird rebellion thing,
since I’ve bought stuff she never lets into the house when she’s here. I even
buy bananas, she hates bananas. I don’t care for them that much myself, but find
them in my basket when I go to checkout. Being bored I find the bread maker and
have made bread for four days in a row. I have white, rye, wheat and pumpernickel.
I don’t eat it; I just like the sound it makes while it’s running for a couple
of hours. I’d run the blender, but it’s broken. I run the dishwasher again.
She says she’s coming home tomorrow, if she does I’m ok. More than that I’d have
to dig into the bottom of my underwear drawer and yank out those Speedos I’ve
never worn. For good reason. God, I hope it doesn’t come to that. This would not
be a pretty picture. She needs to leave that baby and come back and take care
of the one she left at home. I think I’ll go run the dishwasher once more, just
to make sure.
© Peary Perry
Comments go to pperry@austin.rr.com
Letters
From North America
- May
2 , 2005 column |
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