Revisiting dinner

Guys see no sense in going to the doctor unless they think they’re dying.

Actually, guys don’t have much sense when it comes to health – regardless of their age.

When they’re young they think nothing can kill them.

When they’re old they’re too tired to leave the house.

We figure we can beat anything with a nap on the couch and a cold beer.

The wife thinks chicken noodle soup cures all.
I humor her and drink it.

A couple of nights ago the wife made a run to the local plate lunch joint.

Dinner is served at stately Harrington manor.

Or Casa del Harrington if you pressed 1 for Spanish.

Dog-Barfing-sizedThe next morning I’m barfing away.

So as she heads to work the wife says, “You going to the doctor?”

“Why would I do that?”

And she’s gone.

Seeing the doc, who’s really a wonderful person, involves a 90 minute round trip and a couple of hours playing games on my iphone in the waiting room.

Since the chairs are no good for napping, beer is not allowed and there’s no place to barf except on the person next to me who probably has some contagious disease, why would I want to go there?

If I did go, here’s what would have happened…

The doc, lovely lady she is, would come flying through the door, grab a quick hug and, “What’s up?”

“I’m running at both ends. Something the wife fed me.”

“Sounds like you got a bug. Here, get this at the pharmacy.”

Quick hug and swoosh – she’s gone in a puff of smoke.

Total time – maybe 30 seconds.

I love her.
I really do.

As much as I can love anyone I see only when life sucks and I’m grumpy.

I get about the same amount of time as I do with the wife between her girlfriend phone calls and cruising Facebook.

At least the wife feeds me.
Even if I can keep it down for just a little while.

My super model diet

The wife rarely calls me.

Instant Message is her communication of choice, even if we’re in the same house.

“What do you want for dinner?”

That’s her secret code for, “I’m not cooking so either you cook or tell me what plate lunch your want for me to pick up on the way home.”

Since she isn’t particularity delighted with my gourmet macaroni and cheese with hot dogs, we’re talking Zippys.

The woman’s a saint to make sure I’m fed.

Zippys-Chef-Salad-sizedAnd it makes her day when I say Chef Salad.

Zippys is her most favorite place in the whole world next to Macys and Las Vegas.

The place stirs the soul of us local folks.

She says it’s good for me when I eat stuff that has lots of different colors and keeps you regular, not that I’ve ever had any problem in that area.

I like it because it has lots of other stuff like cheese and ham and whatever else there is that hides the fact I’m paying $8.40 for 75-cents worth of lettuce.

Guys like bargains too.

The problem is… Zippys is cutting back.

The wife brought home this Chef Salad the other night that was maybe a third smaller than the ones I used to get from the home of the Zip Pack.

It sure didn’t look like anything I’ve had before – or that menu picture above, either.

Probably 50-cents worth of lettuce that was hidden by less stuff than before.

A menu item has become a side dish.

I don’t think Zippy’s gets it.

Sure, it’s raising its prices because the cost of that lettuce and other itsy-bitsy stuff is going up.

I can decide if it’s worth it to buy that now-overly expensive salad.

But to raise the price and then cut back on what you get kinda makes the decision easy.

It would leave a rabbit hungry.

At the rate that thing is downsizing and up-pricing, I’d be on a super-model diet for $10 in no time.

I’d probably look a lot better.

And also a lot grumpier from being hungry and irregular.

Some parents are wimps

Once in a while I’d like to open the trap door on the back some people’s head and look inside.

I figure there won’t be anything there but I’d like to see the cobwebs anyway.

What’s with some parents these days?

They’re so busy trying to protect their children they’re producing neurotic messes that screw up their own kids.

Man-With-Bandages-And-A-Crutch-sizedIf you’re over 40 then you remember running around, falling down and getting banged up.

It’s part of growing up and a great way to get some hugs and ice cream from mom.

And you went outside and did it again – because it’s part of growing up.

Now parents are scared to death their children will get some terrible disease from a small scrape.

Geesh, how’d the rest of us make it?

Yeah, I’m grumpy and this is what got me started…

On Long Island, Weber Middle School is worried its students are getting hurt during recess.

So, new rules:
No footballs, baseballs, or anything that might hurt someone on school grounds.

No games of tag, or cartwheels.

Can you imagine a bunch of kids on a sugar rush with too much energy not running around, playing tag and doing cartwheels?

You have to be a bit reasonable.
If all this was that bad the human race would have died off generations ago.

If you’re an old-timer in Hawaii then you remember the mosquito trucks that used to drive through the neighborhoods at night spraying DDT.

Today it’s banned because that stuff could kill you.

Then it must be a bone-fide miracle were all still tooting along because we’d ride our bikes behind the truck as it was spitting out dense, white clouds and loving the smell of the delicious, oily mist.

Great fun when you’re 10 or 12.

Nobody cared because nobody knew better.

I wonder why it didn’t kill us.
Maybe we’re immortal.

The wife thinks I get banged up more than anyone she knows.

That’s true.

I’m always limping around, covered with band aids and she freaks when I get on a ladder.

I bet I have more fun then most old coots around my age.

You can live life or just live.