Sunday, September 18, 2016

My wife and I live seperate lives in a way

 and often do not share the same domicile. It works and neither of us have any plans to split up. Neither of us want to split up. Both of us are content with things the way they are.

She often occupies the house I live in while I am gone.

When she moved out of the house a matchmaker took one look at the situation and started offering to fix me up. I said 'No thanks.' Of course, she persisted. Dumbasses like that generally do not know how to take no as an answer. She could simply not comprehend the fact that Mrs. Pic and I were not splitting up just because we opted for seperate living arrangements.

I later had a word with her husband and got her off my back. 

I always get a boot out of these matchmakers and the people that they pull out of their pocket.

"She's had a few problems with men." Read: divorced six times.

"She's had a problem with drugs/alcohol." Read: she just got out of rehab for the 8th time.

Even if Mrs. Pic and I did decide to split up the last thing I would want is any of the matchmaker's matches. I'm not that stupid.

I ran it by the couple across the street. They both have a great sense of humor. She's a tall, busty woman that has the ability to pull anything off. she's as comfortable dolled up in someplace fancy as she is sitting on the tailgate of a pickup with a beer watching an illegal street race down on Thunder Alley.

I confess to having an off the wall sense of humor and there are few women that truly appreciate it. Strangely enough, most of the few that do have been married for decades.

"Hey, Lois," I said. "Ever since Mrs. Pic and I started living apart Suzie the matchmaker has been trying to fix me up. I can't seem to get it in her head that I am married and want to stay that way."

Lois smirked. Tom looked at me and shook his head.

"Lois," I asked. "You got a Dolly Parton wig and a good push-up bra?"

Tom looked and smiled. He knew I was up to something. "OK, Pic. What's the plan?"

"We doll up Lois and we put the two of us in the Miata with the top down and drive by Suzie's place when she's gardening and I wave. She'll add two plus two, get seven and assume I have some foxy chick in my life and leave me the hell alone," I replied.

They both laughed.

"Lois, you still have that wig you wore to the costume party years ago?" asked Tom.

"Got rid of that a couple of years ago," she replied. "Now I wish I'd kept it... Hey, Suzie would know it was me if we drove by."

"That's what four pounds of trashy-looking makeup is for," I answered with a smug look. "Besides you can just kinda look around and not give her a good look at your face. It's all about illusion. Hell, I'm not necessarily even looking for a real woman. A decent drag queen would do nicely. Hell, if it really was a guy we could have a beer afterwards and talk about hunting and fishing."

All three of us laughed for a few minutes envisioning some guy in drag sitting next to me in the Miata...or sitting on the back porch drinking beer and talking about next deer season.

"Hey, George, sit like a lady! I'm tired of staring at your junk," I said. We were envisioning a drag queen and I sitting on the porch sharing beers.

We all laughed and Lois blushed a bit.

"Well, off to Craigslist," I said. 

"I wanna read THAT ad," said Tom.

"Me, too," added Lois.

What's funny about this entire conversation is that we all knew it to be semi-wishful thinking. The truth is I could never do something like this because it would get back to Mrs. Pic and her feelings would be hurt. There are simply just too many cruel people out there.

Instead, I chased down Suzie's husband and had a quiet word with him and he went home and squelched the entire issue, thank God. It was starting to get old fast. I was pretty damned close to putting on my old army boots and jumping all over Suzie with both feet.


To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY

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