The Wings Did It!

Okay! I'll stop talking about the Red Wings for a while now. They won last night 3-2! Stanley Cup winners for the 11th time. Go Wings! It was a very exciting game but we won with an assist from the opposing goalie. Our guy hit the puck at the goal, the goalie sat on it, and when he moved to get up he pushed it into the goal with his hiney. Or, as my daughter so delicately put it, he butt squeaked it in. It was a fair goal, and well deserved. We can all go on to our normal everyday lives again until next hockey season. At least I will. The rest of the person in this house will be watching every football game that is televised. Love it.

I had lunch today with a dear friend who is also a writer. Or tries to be. She endures the same husbandly interruptions while attempting to write - although her experience doesn't include those scritching sandals creeping closer and closer to the door. It's something about if we're not sitting on the sofa next to them watching Cops and droning news programs, we are obviously ignoring them. I'm pleased to know that I'm not the only one - it's not just me or my imagination. It's either they're there interrupting you or you are writing away with this nagging feeling eating away at your brain stem that he's going to be coming by any second now.

I thought the mister got the message the other day when I told him he won prime time in my blog. Wrong. If anything, it only encouraged him. The next evening I could hear him scritching across the floor to my officette. Then I felt him breathing on my neck. I paused in mid-word and turned around to see what the deal was. He sez " I'm not going to say anything, I don't want to interrupt you, I just wanted to see if you want some Good n' Plentys." If one says "I'm not going to say anything" is that not saying something? You tell me. How can you respond to an offer of candy other than with graciousness and smiles. Why yes, my sweet, I am feeling a bit peckish, and I would ever so love some Good n' Plenty's at this exact moment."

Ten minutes later I was on a roll again and he shouts from the kitchen "After you're done in there could you check the refrigerator and see what we should ditch? Tomorrow is garbage day"." Apparently I'm the only forensic expert in the house who can tell if the oozing cucumber needs to vacate the fridge or the left over chicken that is growing a new set of feathers needs to be released back into the wild.

A few weeks ago, I actually closed the office door, which I normally don't do. We've always had an unspoken open door policy. That's just the way it's been. 38 years. No closed or locked door no matter what. Except for the bathroom. But that goes without saying. So forget that I said it. Anyway, so he's standing outside my office door saying - to the dog - in that special voice we use when we really want everyone to hear us: " I think she wants to be alone, so we can't go in there right now." Meanwhile, my eyes start to twitch and my hands hoover over the key board as I try to remember what in the heck I was writing about. I may have just been browsing through Chico's website for sales items for all I know, but that's beside the point.

As I'm typing this and considering my next topic, I'm thinking "it's about time for the Mister to invent another reason for popping in here, so why don't I just hang it up in for the day and go sit next to him on the sofa and watch some more droning news."

Why don't I just do that? Catch you later! Thanks for stopping by!