Stories Related to Marriage
I jokingly asked my husband, Reese, one day if he would object to my writing books of a pornographic nature.
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“Why? I can’t believe you have a problem with me writing books,” I said.
He answered, “It’s not writing books that bother me: it’s you writing porn because I know I would be the star of your novels.”
“So, you’re saying it’s okay to write books though?”
“Yes,” he answered nodding his head, “Just no sex involved.”
I smiled and said, “Much like our marriage, huh?”
My daughter, Amber, says she doesn’t want me to write about her at all and if I do, I cannot write about her prom night(s). I cannot write about her troubles at school, or her teachers, at any time, ever. I cannot write about her past boyfriends, husbands, childhood friends, childhood, or anything else other than her pets.
“That leaves me nothing to write about,” I exclaimed, quite put out.
My son says the same. I cannot write about his childhood or his friends (unless they did something stupid like Noah and Ian have done and Reese is out of the equation). I cannot write anything about him at all.
“So what do I write about?” I asked my son.
“Go write about Dad.”
Now, I’m back to square one. Instead, I write books about other people.
My son, Reese got into the back seat of the car and noticed a loaf of bread in the other seat so he asked his father, “Why is there a loaf of bread in the back seat?”
My husband answered, “I stopped at the store last night and picked it up.”
I looked in the back at my son who wore a dumbfounded expression and said, “Okay, but why is it here in the back seat of the car?
My husband replied, “It was sliced like regular bread. I wanted it whole so I could tear off pieces.
My son and I looked at each other again. Then I spoke up, “Okay! But one more time: WHY is the bread STILL in the back seat of the car?”
“Because I forgot to take it in,” he answered.
And men say they cannot understand women! Wasn't my son clear at the start?
I was trying to write an article on one of my old teachers, Tommy Shubrick. I knew Tommy had passed away some years ago and as I searched unsuccessfully for the obituary, my husband hears me moaning and grumbling. As a matter of fact, I cannot even find Tommy’s family! I cannot find anything on him except what Woodie Chavis was able to give me. Woodie is an old Georgetonian and someone I communicate with on Facebook.
Finally, after a couple of days and many hours of searching, I find Tommy’s wife and discover she doesn’t live very far from me at all.
As I announce to my husband that we’re going over there to meet with her, my husband says to me, "Where exactly are we going?"
I'm so excited and answer with, "We're going to meet Tommy Shubrick's wife! O-M-G! She lives right over here! I cannot believe I've spent this whole time looking for information on him. I've even had other people online helping me to find information and here she was, sitting right there!"
I was so very excited until ... my husband says, "Oh, I knew she lived over here. She's been here for years."
And to think men wonder why women believe some men look better wearing a cast iron skillet as a hat.
While I stayed busy working in my eBay store, I had asked my husband if he would mind making me some eggs and toast. I didn’t want to stop working because I knew if I had I would be distracted and would not get back to the task at hand until hours later.
“You want two eggs and toast,” he asked.
“Make that one egg and one slice of toast,” I answered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I only want one egg, one slice of toast,” I confirmed then added. “I have some sausage in the freezer, too, that I cooked and didn’t use. Can you toss those in the microwave and thaw them out?”
“What do you want those for?”
(Did he just ask me why I wanted sausage?) What an inappropriate question, I thought to myself. I looked over at him and answered, “To eat.”
“Okay,” he responds, “Why only one egg and one slice of toast?”
Sighing out loud, I explained, “Because that’s all I ever eat. I ask for two eggs and two slices of toast out of habit and then I never eat it mostly because I cannot eat the toast.”
My husband goes into the kitchen to fix breakfast. As he wrestles with the bread he calls out, “That’s one egg – how many pieces of toast do you want?”
And you wonder why I'm Cranky.
I’m making creamed chicken and noodles for dinner tonight. We had this discussion last night about how to make it. Today, I asked my husband to get the crock-pot out. Then I asked if he would add some bullion-cubes.
“What do I set it on?” he calls from the kitchen.
“High,” I answer.
minutes later this is the conversation:
Him: Was I supposed to put the chicken in the crock pot?
I turned in my chair and looked at him to see if he was joking. He was serious.
Him: Well, you didn’t say that. You said to put in the bullion-cubes – you didn’t say anything about the chicken!
Me: You know I’m making the chicken in the crock pot – it’s common sense to put it in the crock pot.
I went to the kitchen and looked. The crock pot was plugged in, it was off and inside sat two bullion cubes all by themselves.
Apparently, it is NOT common
sense to KNOW someone is making chicken in a crock pot and that is where it should be cooked. Apparently, I am also the one who has no common sense.
Someone shoot me, please.