Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The Wife Says I Should Do Something Useful with My Time
She's a dear, but I frequently have the sense that she thinks the world would be much simpler if we just followed Her Rules. Which are, chiefly, if you are female do what females have always done, which is generally across all cultures pretty much of everything that needs to be done, and if you aren't a woman, you ought to be. As she so rhetorically asks, when is the last time you caught armies of women raping and pillaging?
History was not my specialty, but I am hard-pressed to give her an answer.
In the meantime, She Rules. That's fine by me, for the most part. She's a very sensible and kind woman, and quite relieved when I find uses for my retirement other than following her around asking if she wouldn't like me to accompany her. I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said, "To do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual." With regard to the former descriptor retirement proves the case in point; I have yet to confirm the latter, however.
To that end I am very happy to have discovered this "blogging" venue. Which is a very silly term, if you ask me, and I'll have more to say about it later.
Still, I do have my irritable moments. The following may have been one of them. Do bear in mind one of Oscar Wilde's other observations, "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his."
Wouldn't it be loverly if it were all that simple?
Lots of people seem to like them;
to me it makes no sense.
The only way I'll view a rosebush
is through a chain-link fence.
It bothers me to get too close,
the sniff's not worth the smell;
and all those girly-girly colours? -
The color-scheme of hell.
The Wife says each insipid shade
has its own aroma.
She's a dear menopausal maid,
but upstairs, no one's home. A
Lot of time she sits outdoors,
directing me with shears.
It's not her arms that get the thorns -
she just dries off my tears.
If I only had more power,
I'd design them all again.
Surely there could be some flowers
that meet the needs of MEN.
Make 'em bold but frowsy,
Impervious to crush;
colors for the color-blind -
aroma's been told shush.
That way when we get them home -
the bouquet left in the heat -
it won't appear that they were
surely sat on in our seat.
That's the kind of flower
I'd look right in the eye.
I wouldn't need a chain-link fence -
I'm just that kind of guy.