Lost In Marriage

My wife came up with another zinger again. Lately Peggy has been nagging me to help her more around the house (for about twenty-seven years). She has made some good points about the percentage of my time and effort spent on housework type of stuff compared to other, more frivolous endeavors, and after twenty-seven years of marriage, I am thinking, “You know, actually, come to think of it, when it gets right down to it, upon reflection, and in all due honesty, it would be possible to admit that maybe I could do more around here.”

So I’m at the television watching a really good movie, and on a spur of the moment thing, kind of out of the clear blue sky, on a lark, and without any notification of my intentions, I mosey into the bedroom where I find my love pedaling away on her exercise bike. I can tell she didn’t just get on the thing, for she is slumped over on the handlebars, breathing hard through her mouth, and her otherwise lovely hair all sweaty and stuck to her face. Her appearance says, “My butt is sore as hell from this seat being shoved way up in there, and both legs are really burning like they’re on fire, and I’m almost done in.” I am thinking that her day is about to change for the better, so with a cheerful tone in my voice in order to perk up her day, to make this a radiant moment, I ask my sweetheart, “Peggy, is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything I can bring you? Can you think of any chores for me to do around the house or anything I can do to help out in any way?” She bolts upright in her seat and says, “Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”