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Last week, in a sincere but ultimately misguided effort to show my wife just how much she means to me, I decided to prepare a lovely romantic seven-course meal so that she could enjoy a nice, relaxing evening without having to lift a finger.
But as I was cheerfully cooking up a storm with what can only be described as unwarranted confidence, suddenly, out of the blue, the carefree, happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care ambience was shattered. Somehow (and it’s still a complete mystery to me), I inadvertently managed to set fire to my bride’s brand-new kitchen curtains. Because I had mistakenly believed they were flame retardant, I was, to say the least, somewhat startled when the recently purchased window treatment instantly became a raging inferno.
Of course, that tripped the smoke alarm, unleashing the all too familiar piercing screech that sent our cranky cat careening through the pet door at a speed that defied the laws of physics. Complete chaos then consumed our home until, just in the nick of time, a fleet of firetrucks came racing down the street to save the day.
With the neighborhood in a frenzy and the cantankerous cat safely perched in a large oak tree, I stood in the yard, surveying the developing debacle, and thoughtfully reflected on the unfortunate results of my audacious attempt at cooking. After much soul-searching, I had to admit that this was NOT the first dining disaster I was directly responsible for. (I wish I knew why these annoying little incidents keep happening to me.)
Therefore, I felt compelled to defend my well-intentioned actions. I cautiously approached the love of my life as she was being treated for mild smoke inhalation and tried to explain, as delicately as I could, that it’s the thought that counts.
But she was not buying it.
Because of all the coughing and choking, I could just barely understand her watery-eyed, wheezy, woozy but WITHERING response, which, sadly, I could not help but notice left her blue in the face and gasping for oxygen.
Let me pause for a moment to proudly state that I am blessed beyond measure with an overabundance of journalistic integrity. Therefore, I believe I have a sacred responsibility to keep this little PG-rated blog family-friendly. So, I cannot, in good conscience, put my spouse’s raspy, rancorous, rabid response in print. After all, those were four-letter words spoken in the HEAT of the moment. (Yes, the pun is intended.) However, I do feel like I should acknowledge that, by the end of the evening, she was sorely tested as to whether or not SHE should lift a finger. I think you can guess which one.
Needless to say, my latest culinary catastrophe caused a considerable chasm in our relationship that did not begin to heal until my wife’s labored breathing returned to normal several days later. At which point, she did not hesitate to launch into a painstakingly detailed analysis of my innumerable flaws, faults, and failures as a husband. I might add that this full-throated, long-winded lecture was delivered with great vigor and zest AT THE TOP OF HER NOW HEALTHY LUNGS!
I was relieved to see that my sweetie was back to her old self. And it was obvious to me that it was only a matter of time before I would be forgiven and our marriage would be back on solid ground.
Although I have no choice but to be patient, I simply cannot wait for domestic bliss to once again descend on our decimated, water-damaged domicile.
Marital Madness 