Keeping My Day Job

Well it's a good thing the law gig is still going. Looks like the male modeling thing may not work out. Garrett Eye Clinic has chosen not to use my signature look as the face of its new eyewear campaign. While I'm disappointed by their decision, I remain proud of my work. The Collagen injections were probably a little too much, but I definitely learned from the experience. 

NEW TIP: Never, and I do mean NEVER, sing "If you want to be happy for the rest of your life" to your wife, in response to the Pretty Lady Trap. The Pretty Lady Trap is often encountered at a restaurant or grocery store, always while in the company of your spouse. An attractive female will walk by. She's usually so attractive that you know better than to turn your head and look at her because your spouse too has noticed how attractive the female is. You know sure as rain on a cloudy day that if you look, your spouse will notice and you will pay later, so you focus your eyes on something else. Anything else. After the female has departed from earshot, your spouse may say something to you like, "She is sooo pretty isn't she?," or perhaps more obvious, "Don't you wish you were married to someone like her?" That's the Pretty Lady Trap. Don't step in it. You'll lose your leg, or some other important body part.

If this happens, do not, I repeat, DO NOT, sing, "If you want to be happy for the rest of your life" to her. For your protection, I have embedded the song here for your review.

She Owns Me

It comes as no surprise to my friends and others who know me that I'm whipped. The wife has had me wrapped around her finger for years. Just when I may have thought I couldn't be any more whipped, last Thursday night Anita Beth graduated from ring master to slave master. Here's how it happened:

The plague overtook the state of Mississippi and Tennessee in March. Not the flu. Not a cold. The good old fashioned intestinal-wrenching, barfing, puking, bow to the toilet and wish you were dead plague, i.e., the stomach bug. Thursday, the 11-month-old was puking. I had to pick her up from nursery school early and deliver her to the wife at the beauty shop (further evidence of whippedness). 

Thurday night, when I arrived home from work, the wife mentioned she was worried she was getting sick. Said she didn't feel right. I didn't have much sympathy as I bathed, chased, brushed, and dressed kids. Frankly, I've developed a somewhat large chip on the shoulder about childcare duties the last few months. As loyal Jake University readers will recall, from mid December until early March, the wife has been on the couch with a broken leg. It's been pretty much a one-man show around here. Okay, one man and a Granny. At any rate, I was tired. So, my self-pity drowned out AB's one or two comments about her stomach bothering her. 

After the last two kids were in bed and I had made the baby's bottle, walked the dog and finally settled into my recliner to catch up on some 24, AB asked me to go put the baby to bed. That was it. I'd had it. I mouthed off. I told her I was sick of the distribution of child-care responsibility. I work all day and come home and work all night. Didn't she know that! She needs to get off the couch and do something! All of which I said emphatically as I trudged up the stairs with little Audrey to do as I was told while AB lay silently on the couch. 

When I came back downstairs we went into stealth fighter mode. That's when we don't look at each other and watch TV and hope not to acknowledge the existence of one another for as long as possible. Usually, with AB, that's about 19 minutes. I strategically leaned my head against my left hand, thereby blocking her from my peripheral view as I sulked and watched Jack Bauer beat the crap out of people. I knew she was mad, too. She wasn't talking. By my count I had about 17 minutes left before she tore into me about how difficult it is being home with the kids all day and how I needed to pull my weight and how it didn't hurt me to be a parent, too. I steeled myself, thinking how Jack Bauer would never have to put up with that. 

Then, I noticed a shadow rise above my left hand. She arose from the couch and passed by me toward the bedroom. 

I thought I might have really pushed her over the edge. She was going to give up the last 20 minutes of 24 she was so mad. This was going to be a bad night. I tried to pretend I didn't notice and kept my eyes glued on the television. I couldn't show fear.

A moment later I heard the distinct sound of wretching coming from behind me. I looked around and there she was...sick. Driving the big white bus. Suddenly, all those feelings of tension were instantly replaced by racked guilt. I knew it was over.

I walked into the bathroom and without saying a word, handed her a couple cold wet rags. After a moment of being there with her silently doing the "in sickness and in health" thing, I finally spoke.

"You know," I told her, "you own me now."

"I do own you," she replied.

Just as she turned to wretch another round, she blurted out the words, "This better make the blog!"

Tip of the Day

When your wife tells you she is hungry the night after she is told she can walk without crutches for the first time in seven weeks, Do NOT respond by telling her there are Hot Pockets in the freezer and while she's at it make you one, too.  You can expect your spouse to be a little more than slightly sensitive about who is going to be serving who after she spent seven weeks on the couch. If you have any questions call us on our toll free number at 1-800-I-AM-DUMB. 

Weezie and AB

The visitation for my grandfather (Big Daddy) was tonight. Afterwards
we had a get together at my Uncle Lem's. Weezie loves my wife. She's
doing okay.

Good Shoes Essential

The wife needs new shoes for my grandfather's visitation tonight. I
don't recommend taking a wife on crutches to the mall. They tire easily. On second thought, I DO recommend taking a wife on crutches to the mall!

The Wife Has a Problem with the Poll

Hello everyone.  This is "the wife".  That's right.  "The husband" has gone outside to feed his cows, and, lucky for me, he left his computer unattended.  

Over the course of time, I have come to realize that I am the protagonist in many of his postings.  Let's face it. Sometimes I'm the villain.  I can accept that.  However, I have a problem with his latest poll.  My views have not been accurately represented.  

I cannot vote for any of his options because they are ALL WRONG.  When Spike has an accident or Gracie dumps her milk onto the floor yet again, I tend to treat them the same.  Pour water on the spill (or accident) and then soak up with a towel.  Repeat, repeat, repeat.  In extreme cases, I then pour baking soda over said water to insure all the smell is gone.

I DO NOT suggest he use a wet rag on anything.   I urge you, the voting public, to abstain from voting on this particular poll unless and until he remedies the choices to include what I actually want him to do.

And also, who votes that you soak up pee with a Bounty paper towel? I mean, seriously, even 10 year olds know that leaves behind quite a smell.

UPDATE: The wife has hijacked Jake University. That's okay. I think it spices it up a bit.

Wet Rag v. Paper Towel

Between the kids and the puppy we have lots of spills at our house. The 4-year-old knocks every other cup of milk over. The dog pees on the floor. Occasionally, even the adults knock something over. Usually the wife. But you didn't hear me say that. In fact, our (her) messes are usually even bigger as our (her) drinks are larger. Whoever the culprit, somebody has to clean it up. Oftentimes, it's me.

There's been a running debate in our household as to the best method to clean the rug after an accident. My first instinct is to run for the paper towels. The wife insists that you must use a wet rag. In fact, she has a small fit if I don't use a wet rag. I don't understand what she has against the paper towel. My theory is that the paper towel actually soaks up the liquid like a sponge. Have you ever seen the Bounty commercial? One paper towel can soak up a whole cup of water! It seems like a no-brainer. I might even use the wet rag as a followup to the paper towel, but I never get that far if the wife's around. Nope. Have to use the wet rag. Sometimes she even makes me pour more water on the spill and then use the wet rag. Apparently, she hasn't seen the Bounty commercial. 

So here I am, presenting the argument to the court of public opinion. Though I don't know if 18 votes for the paper towel will convince her, I'm going to give it a try. Vote in this week's poll. Think carefully. This one's personal.