No, this ain't my finger
While sober and after careful and lengthy deliberations on my part, I've come to realize that I love Miss Lisa very much and that I have not given any consideration to life without her.
We've been together 10 months, lived together for almost 8, and have yet to have a cross word or disagreement. My life with her is stress-free. She accepts my stance on my political views and occasionally even agrees with them.
Seriously. I could do a lot worse.
So Friday night I got down on my knees - both of them, I'm 52, godammit - and proposed and she accepted without laughing at me, hesitation, or reminding me of a restraining order.
We hugged, kissed and then CharlieGodammit immediately ran over and jacked me out of the way so he could get some of whatever was going on. Whatever.
There are a couple of added bonuses too. There's the 80 bucks a week extra when I change my withholding and last but not least, she can't be compelled to testify against me in a court of law. That can be important, ya know.
So then Monday I drove her to the airport so she could head back to Tennessee for a couple of weeks to visit with her family and take her grandbabies to Walmart.
The week prior, she kept busy by preparing meals for me and freezing them, telling me where the cleaning utensils were, how to make coffee, doing all the laundry down to the last sock and still trying to tell me how to use the washer and dryer, telling me when to water the plants, you name it.
I finally had to stop her and let her know I done this shit before, man.
The first day out, I dump a load of Copenhagen in the toilet and then amuse myself by pissing the wad apart so it's loose and floating everywhere. Then I flush and instead of it all going to San Francisco like it's supposed to, it all just sat there, swirling around. I looked everywhere but I can't find a plunger. Okay, I looked in only 2 places - under the sinks and next to the toilets, where the hell else do you keep a plunger - but it ain't there.
Well, we haven't needed one since we've been here so maybe it's out in the garage with all of
our my shit that still hasn't been unpacked, so I throw on a Tshirt and go out to the garage and peer into maybe 3 boxes. No luck.
Fuck again.Okay, this is a no-brainer. I don't know why I'm even tripping on it. She's going to be gone for 2 weeks and I got 2 bathrooms and I ain't expecting no company.
Problem solved. For 13 days anyways.
She calls this afternoon for a chat and things work around to dinner. I know she's concerned that I'm going to starve and she knows I know, so she's trying to be tactful about it. But I already know, so what's the point? I'm going to fuck with her about it.
Anyways, she asks what I'm doing for dinner.
"Meat" I replied.
"Meat. I'm smoking some meat for dinner. No vegetables, no fruit, no motherfucking salad, just meat. Heh heh heh." I was starting to get defiant here.
"Well, what kinda meat are you smoking, Bubba?" She didn't care how pissy I was getting.
"Pig meat. What the hell did you expect?" I mean, seriously? C'mon Woman, give me your best shot.
"Well, you just enjoy your pig meat, darlin', and remember that I love you."
Damn. 2 whole weeks til she comes back home......