Mr. Man is a goober.
Sure, I love him and sure, he has a sweet dime collection I’m hoping to inherit when he dies, but that does not change the ugly truth. Even though his spine surgery took place at a hospital nicer than any hotel he has ever taken me to, and even though he came through the surgery beautifully, he was the single worst patient in the whole world.
He wanted out of the hospital the very minute he awakened from anesthesia and felt compelled to tell me so pretty close to 209 times. Each time he said it by the way, his tone implied he was in prison and I was the burly guard that stood between him and freedom. “Get this stuff off me,” he said, pointing to the white panty hose that pumped every few seconds in prevention of life threatening blood clots… and sleep.
Although I tried in a big way to free my man from his shackles so that he might limp to the bathroom to go potty, they wouldn’t budge. Which pissed him off, frankly. And his being pissed off got me pissed off and before I knew it, there was a big old pissing contest going on and he still hadn’t even made it to the toilet.
I rang for a nurse. They go to school for many years to learn how to take things off patients, after all. In a flash, a cutie in scrubs arrived to save the day and just when she did, an honest to goodness miracle happened right before my eyes.
“Did you need something, Honey?” she asked the Man.
Suddenly Mr. Man, the king of grumpiness and discontent, turned into Mr. Man, Hugh Hefner’s twin brother. He practically cooed when he said, “No, no. I’m great.” Lucky for me there is something inherently unappealing about a man whose behind is hanging out of an ugly green gown.
Even my suave husband couldn’t pull off an effective flirt when dressed like a white trash old lady who was on her way to a wedding at the bowling alley.
“Please go find an East German nurse with big, man hands who has recently been dumped by her boy toy,” I said to Nurse Centerfold. “And ask her if she would enjoy forcibly shoving a catheter into my husband’s weenis. In fact, I don’t even care if she’s a nurse. Just locate a large, angry woman, give her a tube and send her in.”
I am happy to report however, that Mr. Man is home from the hospital and on the mend. He is allowed to sit up forty-five minutes at a time, which is fabulous because forty-five minutes is not that long.
Just kidding. You know I love him and enjoy every single second of his company. Really.
How am I doing? Why, thank you for asking.
I’m crappy. My tummy is sick with every bite of food I eat and sick when there are no bites of food. The law of physics says I should weigh nine pounds and yet I do not. (I have no idea what physics is, but other than gravity, it’s sort of the only law I’m aware of, plus it makes me sound smart.)
On a positive note, I have a stalker now, so I’m pretty psyched about that. I’ve always wanted one, but it’s terribly awkward to ask someone you know to do it. The best you can do is hope that one day someone will take the initiative to do it without having to be asked. Thankfully such a person has appeared in my inbox.
Wanna be vicariously stalked? Read on...
From the Toad Suck Guy:
This has been an exciting week. My life has changed because of you, or it may have been the $100.00 I sent the TV preacher for the results-guaranteed anointed prayer cloth. No, it must be you, because the preacher says he needs another $100.00, and I didn't win the lottery.
When I first emailed you it was going to be a one time deal. But now that I have gained status (albeit #32) on the much sought after potential husband list, I feel obligated to write to you one more time, thanking you. This is beyond my wildest dreams. I won't contact you again until you write inform me that I have ascended into the top ten. Or you come to Toad Suck Daze. I haven't decided which is more likely. Hmmmm
Since receiving notification of my position on your list almost one week ago, I have been wondering if I've moved up? I have been watching CNN to see if anyone resembling you had been charged with a spectacular felony.
Once the waves of euphoria subsided (I had to take some Dramamine). I went to purchase trigger locks and a small safe in which to store sharp objects while I am sleeping. I then sought to devise a plan to accelerate (short of most, certainly not all, illegal acts) my movement up your list.
But first one tiny question. I have the guns and knives covered, but have the words "blunt force trauma" ever been associated with the departure of any of your ex-husbands? No? Good, this may be better than I anticipated.
I have decided that as soon as the Chevy is paid off I'm getting a Ford. For inspiration I even bought a little model of a Ford truck. Had it up on the TV right next to the rabbit-ears, but it is rusting-out, and the oil leaking out of it ran down the TV screen. In anticipation however, I'm fixing up the old Rollahome (a prestigious name in vintage mobile homes) hauled off the 2 year accumulation of trash, (girlfriend excluded) new bales of straw, fresh newspaper on the pantry shelves, couple of new velvet Elvis paintings, (paid top dollar for them too, right out of the parking lot behind the Piggly-Wiggly), possum scented candles, you know, homey stuff that girl's like, and (are you sitting) I bought Uncle Newt's collection of over 350 salt & pepper shaker sets. The bidding down to the auction house Friday between me and Rafe Jones was hot, but I won. Got a standing ovation. I Only had 50 bucks and it was either the collection or a color TV but I think the old black & white is good enough. Only get 1 station anyway, PBS. I started building shelves to hold the collection today. I am using lumber Cooter got free down at the rendering plant. Be right back, I gotta make myself a note to buy more scented candles. Painted the trailer too, but at Unclaimed Freight Salvage they didn't have enough of one color to do the whole thing, so the front is blue and the back is green, it kinda has to grow on you. On a more positive note, when the new ones arrive, I have dibs on all the old carpet samples for my living room. You do like multi-color shag don't you?
Knowing women are always impressed by gourmet cooking I will prepare a meal. I even bought some canned goods with no dents in 'em and with labels on them (what the heck is a garbanzo)? At UFS (I buy almost everything there) they charge a little more for food when the date isn't expired and you can tell what is in the can, but I can tell you are classy, and impressing you is worth the extra expense. As for the main course, I will "run it down" later. I'm a pretty good cook, and have been helping out at Billy-Bobs Cafe and Auto Body Shop. The locals say my meals have brought new meaning to the phrase "Fresh Off The Grille".
That being said, and though I can scarce contain my feelings of joy, I find your reluctance to introduce me to a female friend a bit selfish. You did mention the husband queue moves quickly, but I feel If you knew a little about my track record, you would know that by the time my number comes up, at least seven or eight women will have come and gone. One girl recently left me after an insignificant quarrel over something I'm sure all couples have disagreed on at one time or another, the best method of stretching and drying Muskrat skins.
When my last girlfriend discovered I was corresponding over the Internet with a girl, that I met through the personals in the "Arkansas Fur Trappers Gazette", and found out the lady had offered to send me money for a bus ticket to meet her; well she demanded her email address, and I thought surely there would be a fuss, but I later discovered girlfriend had offered to go half on the ticket, and pack me a lunch! This girl was cute, but a little mean. Hunted with a crossbow, liked it because it was quiet. She was a little too fond of field dressing game to be considered normal (actually none of my girlfriends were normal). Boy, she could fillet a fish in about 45 seconds. I thought it was great until it occurred to me that to fillet a boyfriend would take her only slightly longer. She carried a knife in her boot. Come to think, you don't have a sister that lived in Arkansas do you? She finally ran-off with my best friend, taking my favorite coon-hound. I sure miss that hound. His name was Count. Neighbors all said my dogs were no-account. Guess I showed them he was
a-Count. Don't miss the guy at all....never met him! I met her at a biker rally (another whole story) should have known better, mostly big, burly, mean, hairy, bearded, tattooed, sweaty, beer drinkers, and the men were even worse!
I wanted to mention that there is ample space for a couple more mobile homes and lots of dead vehicles, with room to spare for the boats, ATV's, and broken appliances. Yer kin will be welcome!
Please keep me apprised of my status, I was hoping this additional information would move me up a little in the queue. I feel the trailer renovation (just think of that carpeting) alone should place me in the mid twenties.
PS: Almost forgot, two on top two on the bottom, but none of 'em line up.
Note from Sher: #29 now. You're welcome.
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