So, about six months into writing this blog, I read an
article about “how to write a great blog” and found out my posts are way too
long. Friends, I apologize. I am pretty wordy on paper and in person, so it’s true to form that my posts would bring up
the average word count—even for a female blogger. For the Neighborhood (Hibu)
Magazine articles, I usually hit my mark of 500 words or less. Tough goal! But
I have a boss/editor there. One of my MANY New Year’s resolutions is to improve
my writing skills, particularly with Theories:
Size 12. Tall Child says that “a little Bug goes a long way sometimes.”
Thus, in 2014, look forward to shorter, more concise blog posts (still only on
Fridays). One of my favorite quotes is Shakespeare’s “Brevity is the soul of
wit.” Blog writin’ is purty different from book writin’ and article writin’,
ya’ll. Forgive my rookie mistakes, please. Then again, most writers make zero
to $10 per year, so we write what and how we want to. Some don’t even use nouns
and verbs in every sentence. Oh, no I didn’t! Yes I did. How about I just write
whatever I want in how many ever words I want and you read as much as you can
tolerate. Up to you. It’s free, anyway. Or, you can purchase this blog on
Kindle for .99 per month. I tossed it up on Kindle because some folks like to
read in that format. Otherwise, click, read/skim/share, at your discretion here
on Blogger for free. I don’t seem too dedicated to this goal, do I? I’m not the
best at keeping resolutions. Heck, if I stay at my hoggy pace of late, I’ll
have to change the blog title to Theories:
Size 14.
Regardless, THANK YOU for reading and enjoying my
Theories—even the looooong ones. I think we’ve built a fun relationship on
common ground. I’ll flesh out these bad boys for the book (a collection of
humorist essays)—coming soon—possibly late 2014.
We’ll see. I’m stacking up commitments and extra work like
crazy, including getting a Master’s Degree. Spring semester as a high school
teacher FLIES (and I’m responsible for 9th grade end-of-course test
coordination.) Yay. Me.
Anyhoo, speaking of relationships and stress, let’s talk Theory 27: The epic, memorable marital
arguments have titles. So as not to dredge up more fights among
couples who actually read this blog, I’m going to keep descriptions concise, omit
even nicknames, and use this blog as a sort of tutorial in case some of you are
resolving to be nicer to your spouses in the New Year. I’ll break down the
fights in this format:
Title
Argument Summary
Wife Learned
Husband Learned
Moral of the Story
Away we go. “One of these days, Alice, to the moon!”
Gerber Bananas
Argument Summary:
The husband lied. The wife confronted him. The argument ensued. The wife was
feeding their 9-month-old baby. She picked up the baby food and threw the glass
jar of Stage 2 Gerber bananas at her husband’s face. She is not an athlete. He
is. He dodged. The jar crashed into the wall. Liquid bananas and glass exploded
across the room.
Wife Learned: You
mess it up. You clean it up.Husband Learned: No one takes you seriously if you are yelling with bananas on your face.
Moral of the Story: Practice.
Incandescent Light Bulb
(same couple as above)
Argument Summary: Husband
acted ugly. Wife threw a 75 Watt incandescent light bulb at his face. Husband
dodged the bulb and the glass shattered into two-hundred million microscopic
sized pieces of glass/sand.
Wife Learned: If
you smash loaf bread onto broken glass you can get tiny pieces of glass off the
floor. Husband Learned: He should change the light bulbs from now on, especially since the new ones have mercury in them.
Moral of the Story: Glass is harder to clean up than bananas, but a makes for a much more dramatic show of fury.
Dishes
Argument Summary: Wife
and working mother of two children begged, pleaded, and harassed husband in a
futile attempt for help with housework. She specifically asked him to
pleeeeaaaassseeee do the dishes. He hid. Never did. Anything. One morning
before work, the wife loaded all the Spaghettio-encrusted (you know how hard
those little circles get) and greasy plates, cups, and bowls into sacks and
carried them outside. She then placed every single filthy dish in the driver’s
side floorboard of the husband’s truck.
Wife Learned: Revenge
may be dirty, but it feels so good.
Moral of the Story: Women
who work need freakin’ help with housework. Better yet, housekeepers.
Diapers in Panama City Beach
Argument Summary: The
husband, wife, and 15-month-old baby spent a week in Panama City Beach. Upon
returned, the exhausted wife (who had to go to work the next day) complained
that she was exhausted. The husband said, “I don’t’ know why, we just got back
from vacation.” The wife explained, “We took a pack of 72 diapers to PCB and
brought back 2. How many diapers did you change while we were there?” The husband
said, “One right before we went to Pineapple Willy’s and one up in the condo.”
The wife said, “That means that you changed 2 diapers and I changed 68.”
Wife Learned: Dirty
diapers can foul up the interior aroma of a Yukon like nobody’s business,
especially overnight, especially overnight in July in Tennessee.
Husband Learned: Nothing,
obviously.
Moral of the Story: Babies
do #2 everywhere, not just at home, boys. Help!
Folding Chairs and Furniture
Argument Summary:
One Friday, the wife was scouring and decorating her home for a huge baby
shower to be held the next morning. She had asked the husband to move 30
folding chairs that had been leaning on her front porch for 5 months, for 5
months. He didn’t. He went to work. Then, out of nowhere, a moving van showed
up with the husband’s aunt’s old furniture (a king size mattress, box springs,
bed, dressers, tables, a huge TV, and two filthy stinky wing-backed chairs).
The wife had no idea these things were coming the DAY before the big shower.
The movers stuffed them into the wife’s prettily dusted and mopped sunroom. The
wife (who is friends with the “Dishes” wife above), copied her buddy’s method
and hauled and stacked all 30 metal folding chairs into the husband’s closet.
She then pushed every piece of stinky nasty furniture that she was strong
enough to maneuver (including the TV) down the steps to the basement.
Wife Learned: Some
men just cannot communicate. They don’t receive messages. They don’t sent
messages.
Husband Learned: TV’s
that bounce down 14 steps don’t get the best reception.
Moral of the Story: A
rolling wing-backed chair gather’s no moss.
Forsythia
Argument Summary: The
man was raring to go mow. The wife was enjoying her first beautiful glorious
yellow flowers of spring on her gigantic double-blooming forsythia bush. She
watched the husband rev up his mower and warned, “Whatever you do, do NOT even
go near that forsythia bush!” The husband (not on purpose, of course), put
mower pedal to medal and seemingly lost control of the mini-tractor. The front
of the machine “rared up” and landed hard, with force, with blades spinning
madly, right on top of the golden bush. He shredded it.
Wife Learned: If
you grow it, he will kill it.
Husband Learned: Steer
clear of the golden blooms or meet your not-so-golden doom.
Moral of the Story: Men
don’t listen.
China Plate
Argument Summary: The
baby was a few weeks old. The husband was very bossy. The wife and husband were
sitting at the kitchen table discussing child care. The husband said, “You don’t
have to pick her up every time she cries.” She wife said, “If you say that one
more time, I’m going to break this china plate over your head.” A few minutes
later, the husband said, “You are going to spoil her rotten. You don’t have to
pick her up every time she cries.” The wife picked up her plate and broke it over
his head.
Wife Learned: He
deserved it.
Husband Learned: His
rank.
Moral of the Story: Never
tell a mama not to pick up her crying baby.
The Tree Stand-Off
Argument Summary:
The husband and wife have enjoyed wedded bliss for 13 years now. Each Christmas
they choose a live evergreen. Each Christmas, the wife implores the husband, “Let’s
get the guys at the garden center to put the stand on the tree so we don’t have
to.” Each Christmas the husband dismisses her plea because he doesn’t want her
to go looking for the stand. You see, he knows the stand is in the woods,
screwed into the trunk of last year’s tree. Each Christmas, they bring home a
tree and FIGHT because one of them has to tromp through the mud and get the
stand. Then, they awkwardly battle the tree into the freezing cold, sappy stand
using a steak knife to cut limbs and encyclopedias to prop the plastic holder so
the tree doesn’t lean.
Wife Learned: Pretend
like you believe him.
Husband Learned: Act
like a hero. Go to the woods and fake like you are looking for the stand. Then
come back and say, “Let’s just buy a new one.” She’ll believe you.
Moral of the Story:
Let the teenagers at the garden center fasten the tree into the stand. You will
save energy, frustration, encyclopedias, and a steak knife.
Photo taken December 2014. Ah, the smell of 365-day-old pine needles.
Gulp. Readers, don’t bother getting your panties or boxers
in a wad and suing me if I accidentally identified you in this post. Remember
friends, writers make almost no money. Plus, I’m a teacher and we have to hustle
for every cent we make. Plus, Plus, Tall Child, Sharkey, Gnome and I were robbed two
days before Christmas and anything I could pawn to pay legal fees is already
being pawned by some low-life. Plus, Plus, Plus, there’s no telling when I’ll
get my tax return because I am dealing with a criminal in Mississippi and the
IRS. Which brings me to Theory 28: Don’t blog aboutbrother-husbands or women doing all the work. You’ll tempt fate.
Also, visit Amazon.com or my website to read about my book, The Eye of Adoption, my short story, Field Day, and my collection of essays for parents and teachers, Parents, Stop and Think.
Author website: www.jodydyer.com
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Author website: www.jodydyer.com
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