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A couple of years or so ago, Jeff Foxworthy made the observation that honesty is not always the best policy when men are dealing with women. He reported a conversation in which a woman tells a man, "You be sure and tell me if this dress makes me look fat."
To which he replied, "Right! And you be sure and tell me if I wake up stupid."
Patty makes some of her own clothes, and she always tells me, "You be sure and tell me if something makes me look fat." Uh-huh.
Yesterday I woke up stupid.
She has been working hard on a dress for the last couple of days, and last night she tried it on in front of me. I told her it made her look fat. That was a very bad idea.
Used to be whenever I said or did something that displeased her, I got the silent treatment until I made it up to her, somehow. Those will henceforth be known as the Good Old Days. The silent treatment is no longer an option; World War Three is now the order of the day. I keep waiting for her to wind down, but her knickers are pretty tightly wound into many knots.
I didn't know until this morning that flowers are combustible. They can be used as rocket fuel under certain circumstances.
Any ideas?
Editor's note:
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