I wish I had all the time in the world.
Aug. 10th, 2001 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
realexplodingcatMy wife eats time. It's true. I can have an evening blocked out perfectly and the minute she steps near me, time is warped. Before I know it, half the evening is gone and I haven't even had a chance to pick my nose.
Actually, I guess time is always warped around her. In fact, I suspect she's a black hole. I can have the couch COMPLETELY clean. The minute she sits down, newspapers are strewn about the floor, books, magazines, phone books, sunglasses, a dozen pair of shoes, lotion, makeup--it all just seems to be attracted to her.
It's Friday. I expect that by the time I get home she'll have supper prepared. Judging by what's in the cupboard, it'll be Indian food. I like Indian food. Since it's Friday, however, there's always the possibility she'll surprise me and drag me off to the mall. I hate the mall. It reminds me of a grocery store, only smellier and bigger. The only place worse is Wal-Mart, which seems to spawn its own particular breed of Jerry Springer guests.
The mall has one redeeming quality. There is a tiny Chinese-Japanese joint there which serves the most incredible General Tso's Chicken. I love it the way I love clever graffitti. My wife doesn't encourage me to eat it very often because she's allergic to the soy in it,but sometimes she forgets herself and buys it for me.
I'll grumble if she makes me go, but secretly I'm cheering inside. Eating out saves me dish duty at home. I'll only make gargoyle faces for a few minutes.
Well, time to go home. I hope the kids who think I'm Ben Franklin leave me alone today.
And I wish my wife would stop making me wear knee-breeches and a waist-coat.
Actually, I guess time is always warped around her. In fact, I suspect she's a black hole. I can have the couch COMPLETELY clean. The minute she sits down, newspapers are strewn about the floor, books, magazines, phone books, sunglasses, a dozen pair of shoes, lotion, makeup--it all just seems to be attracted to her.
It's Friday. I expect that by the time I get home she'll have supper prepared. Judging by what's in the cupboard, it'll be Indian food. I like Indian food. Since it's Friday, however, there's always the possibility she'll surprise me and drag me off to the mall. I hate the mall. It reminds me of a grocery store, only smellier and bigger. The only place worse is Wal-Mart, which seems to spawn its own particular breed of Jerry Springer guests.
The mall has one redeeming quality. There is a tiny Chinese-Japanese joint there which serves the most incredible General Tso's Chicken. I love it the way I love clever graffitti. My wife doesn't encourage me to eat it very often because she's allergic to the soy in it,but sometimes she forgets herself and buys it for me.
I'll grumble if she makes me go, but secretly I'm cheering inside. Eating out saves me dish duty at home. I'll only make gargoyle faces for a few minutes.
Well, time to go home. I hope the kids who think I'm Ben Franklin leave me alone today.
And I wish my wife would stop making me wear knee-breeches and a waist-coat.
