What’s a fella supposed to do when he comes home and finds a guy in his bedroom? That was the case this past week when I returned to our house late-morning after being at the dog shelter. At least the ending of my story is a happy one even though my imagination got carried away earlier.
You see, I came home, grabbed my morning paper, adjourned to the recliner and began reading. My attention was distracted when I heard some noises coming from our bedroom. I asked the Betterhalf, “Who is in the bedroom?” She casually responded, “Oh, that’s just guy” and went about her household chores. As mentioned earlier, that’s when my imagination got carried away.
I immediately headed down the hall to the master bedroom. I opened the door, but saw nothing. As I started to shut the door, I heard noises coming from underneath our bed. Getting down on my hands and knees I spotted a robotic vacuum bumping into the headboard legs of our queen-sized bed. I must admit I was relieved. But, as the late Paul Harvey said, “Here’s the rest of the story.”
The Betterhalf had tagged the nickname, “My guy” to her robotic vacuum! I compounded my own confusion not realizing it was also weekly vacuuming and cleaning day in our household.
It takes “this guy” down a notch or two when you are not the only guy in our home. Another notch took me a step deeper when I am being compared to a vacuum cleaner.
Now “Guy” and I share part of the vacuuming duties. Since retirement I have been, on occasion, irregularly assigned to operating the old upright cleaner to the family and living room carpets. At my age I’m just grateful the Betterhalf hasn’t asked me to crawl under the bed to vacuum. Go “Guy”!
Two men who had been bachelor cronies met for the first time in five years. “Tell me, Tom,” said one, “did you ever marry that girl, or do you still darn your own socks and do your cooking?”
“Yes,” was Tom’s reply.
We should take a tip from nature. Our ears aren’t made to shut, but our mouths are.
RL Furse is publisher emeritus of the News-Register