honeynajar
Songster
- May 19, 2011
- 157
- 6
- 134
Sorry Hon, David's my brother's name, and yes he has also had the life force sucked from him, like the marrow from a bone, just as I. We are how you say... husbands well trained. The extent of our otherwise impressive vocabularies is rapidly condensed to a myopic "yes dear, whatever you want - you're absolutely right" accompanied by a kind of institutionalized, thorazine-like induced nodding of the head, whenever we find ourselves within ice picking range of our significant others. As the humorist Helen Rowland once put it, "A husband is what is left of the lover after the nerve has been extracted." Although I am relatively confident of my wife's fidelity (or more likely blissfully ignorant of any contrary reality) it has been quite some time since I can recall her referring to me as "her lover".
More often than not I am the recipient of THAT look which you girls reserve for your neutered servants, er ... husbands. That look which in a scant glance, conveys the universal contempt and disgust that you all seem to secretly harbor toward us, the ones who are to blame for the physical aftereffects of child birth, at least in your subconscious minds. You are all truly sisters, and we full well recognize the hopeless nature of our plight... so we just nod and agree, if we know what is good for us and have not as yet mastered the art of sleeping with one eye open. You know... truth be told, we were just fine when it was just the two of us and we had a life... before children, but maybe that's a male not-so secret that I wasn't supposed to share.
Spider killin', snake grabbin', heavy stuff totin', jar openin', auot mechanic. general field hand who takes direction well, and giver of a few good giggles. Some of us do have our uses.
Please do not allow my sardonic observations sour you on ducks. They are much worse than I alluded, but worth every bit of the extra work and aggravation. Also, duck eggs in baked goods and omelets are da bomb. It's my little secret weapon in cakes, so I just had to have a machine that could make 'em for me. 'Course the Mallard is far from being one of the hybrid egg laying machines, but I figure they were a safe bet to get acquainted with, and if they got to be too big a pain I could just forget to close the run one day and... (if my wife ever reads this you'll know because my posts will cease as abruptly as they started). Not that I had any choice either way. Funny you mention the guy who grabbed the last few. I thought I had successfully dodged a bullet the day we got ours 'cuz there was a guy who had just finished having the last dozen boxed up for himself, but my wife gave him the long face and he relented giving us three (gee...what a nice guy....sassin' frasssin' sunofagun, dirty rotten...). I was this close.
