| Humor Fiction posted February 18, 2015 |
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Cabin fever craziness
Love Test
by Deniz22
Wife and I live in New England. We've been married for over 50 years. I don't know the exact number, but she does. She's a whiz with numbers, names, dates...little stuff like that.
We don't show too much affection towards each other. This kinda bothers the young folks.
When we first got married, I really enjoyed kissin' and such. She did somewhat, but being an only child I guess affected her, and PDA isn't a top priority with her.
She's been a wonderful mother and grandmother. A faithful, dependable wife...a strong woman...the kind that New England produces. She was born "liberated". She's respected by everyone who really knows her.
Still, sometimes, I wonder if she really loves me. Lord knows, she knows all my foibles, weaknesses and just plain orneriness. Can't hide that stuff for over 50 years...I gave up trying after the first ten. She can sniff out a lie while it's forming in your brain...just like my mother.
This winter's been another test of our relationship...we've been snowed in for three weeks, one storm after another. Cabin fever has been climbing incrementally, marked by certain symptoms...like hiding the remote so the other one can't find it. Or digging out the "old" remote and using it secretly to increase or lower the volume...one of us is always out of adjustment.
Things kinda came to a head yesterday, as over-reaction to an insignificant personal habit escalated into verbal abuse.
Her, in barely restrained contempt, "Must you do that in the living room?"
Me, somewhat provoked at being challenged over such a little thing, "Do what?"
Her, evenly, "You know exactly what I mean."
Me, reasonably, "I am going to vacuum as soon as I'm done."
Her, with unreasonable sarcasm, "Be sure and get the toenail that just flew past my face."
These little tension moments are stored in the back of my head where there's lots of room. Sometimes they fester there and make me wonder if she really loves me. Oh, I know, if you asked her she would say, "Yes", without hesitation. But still...you know. Sure, she could point to a lifetime of doing for me and the children...but still...?
After I vacuumed (9 out of 10 toenails is not bad for a guy), I went out and moved snow for a bit.
Then I decided I needed to get some off the roof of our two-story Cape. It was piled higher than I ever saw it, and TV reports of roofs caving in motivated me to action.
Now, I'm not the snappiest Yankee that ever retorted, but every now and then, I have a flash of brilliance that amazes me. I've learned to keep these rare moments to myself, as unbiased examinations by strangers always seems to diminish them. But I share this one with you...I saw in an instant a sure way to get an answer to the nagging question, "Does she really love me?"
I came back in the house and went into her "office", a little cubbyhole where she makes artsy-crafty things. I was carrying a snow shovel and I said, "I need you to help me."
"Okay, what do you want me to do?"
In a very matter of fact voice, I said, "I'm going to crawl out of the upstairs window onto the roof, and I want you to hand me this shovel after I get out there."
Of course, this is a very stupid and dangerous thing to do, and no way was I actually going to do it. But the big question to me was, would she care? Even as I asked, I could see a small toenail (#10) lodged in her hair.
She looked at me in amazement as it dawned on her what I was saying. The look of incredulity was priceless! I couldn't help it, and I began to laugh. She smiled and then she laughed too. She loves me!
I gave her a kiss and gently removed the toenail, undetected.
Cabin fever is gone and Spring is just around the corner.
Story of the Month contest entry
Wife and I live in New England. We've been married for over 50 years. I don't know the exact number, but she does. She's a whiz with numbers, names, dates...little stuff like that.
We don't show too much affection towards each other. This kinda bothers the young folks.
When we first got married, I really enjoyed kissin' and such. She did somewhat, but being an only child I guess affected her, and PDA isn't a top priority with her.
She's been a wonderful mother and grandmother. A faithful, dependable wife...a strong woman...the kind that New England produces. She was born "liberated". She's respected by everyone who really knows her.
Still, sometimes, I wonder if she really loves me. Lord knows, she knows all my foibles, weaknesses and just plain orneriness. Can't hide that stuff for over 50 years...I gave up trying after the first ten. She can sniff out a lie while it's forming in your brain...just like my mother.
This winter's been another test of our relationship...we've been snowed in for three weeks, one storm after another. Cabin fever has been climbing incrementally, marked by certain symptoms...like hiding the remote so the other one can't find it. Or digging out the "old" remote and using it secretly to increase or lower the volume...one of us is always out of adjustment.
Things kinda came to a head yesterday, as over-reaction to an insignificant personal habit escalated into verbal abuse.
Her, in barely restrained contempt, "Must you do that in the living room?"
Me, somewhat provoked at being challenged over such a little thing, "Do what?"
Her, evenly, "You know exactly what I mean."
Me, reasonably, "I am going to vacuum as soon as I'm done."
Her, with unreasonable sarcasm, "Be sure and get the toenail that just flew past my face."
These little tension moments are stored in the back of my head where there's lots of room. Sometimes they fester there and make me wonder if she really loves me. Oh, I know, if you asked her she would say, "Yes", without hesitation. But still...you know. Sure, she could point to a lifetime of doing for me and the children...but still...?
After I vacuumed (9 out of 10 toenails is not bad for a guy), I went out and moved snow for a bit.
Then I decided I needed to get some off the roof of our two-story Cape. It was piled higher than I ever saw it, and TV reports of roofs caving in motivated me to action.
Now, I'm not the snappiest Yankee that ever retorted, but every now and then, I have a flash of brilliance that amazes me. I've learned to keep these rare moments to myself, as unbiased examinations by strangers always seems to diminish them. But I share this one with you...I saw in an instant a sure way to get an answer to the nagging question, "Does she really love me?"
I came back in the house and went into her "office", a little cubbyhole where she makes artsy-crafty things. I was carrying a snow shovel and I said, "I need you to help me."
"Okay, what do you want me to do?"
In a very matter of fact voice, I said, "I'm going to crawl out of the upstairs window onto the roof, and I want you to hand me this shovel after I get out there."
Of course, this is a very stupid and dangerous thing to do, and no way was I actually going to do it. But the big question to me was, would she care? Even as I asked, I could see a small toenail (#10) lodged in her hair.
She looked at me in amazement as it dawned on her what I was saying. The look of incredulity was priceless! I couldn't help it, and I began to laugh. She smiled and then she laughed too. She loves me!
I gave her a kiss and gently removed the toenail, undetected.
Cabin fever is gone and Spring is just around the corner.
We don't show too much affection towards each other. This kinda bothers the young folks.
When we first got married, I really enjoyed kissin' and such. She did somewhat, but being an only child I guess affected her, and PDA isn't a top priority with her.
She's been a wonderful mother and grandmother. A faithful, dependable wife...a strong woman...the kind that New England produces. She was born "liberated". She's respected by everyone who really knows her.
Still, sometimes, I wonder if she really loves me. Lord knows, she knows all my foibles, weaknesses and just plain orneriness. Can't hide that stuff for over 50 years...I gave up trying after the first ten. She can sniff out a lie while it's forming in your brain...just like my mother.
This winter's been another test of our relationship...we've been snowed in for three weeks, one storm after another. Cabin fever has been climbing incrementally, marked by certain symptoms...like hiding the remote so the other one can't find it. Or digging out the "old" remote and using it secretly to increase or lower the volume...one of us is always out of adjustment.
Things kinda came to a head yesterday, as over-reaction to an insignificant personal habit escalated into verbal abuse.
Her, in barely restrained contempt, "Must you do that in the living room?"
Me, somewhat provoked at being challenged over such a little thing, "Do what?"
Her, evenly, "You know exactly what I mean."
Me, reasonably, "I am going to vacuum as soon as I'm done."
Her, with unreasonable sarcasm, "Be sure and get the toenail that just flew past my face."
These little tension moments are stored in the back of my head where there's lots of room. Sometimes they fester there and make me wonder if she really loves me. Oh, I know, if you asked her she would say, "Yes", without hesitation. But still...you know. Sure, she could point to a lifetime of doing for me and the children...but still...?
After I vacuumed (9 out of 10 toenails is not bad for a guy), I went out and moved snow for a bit.
Then I decided I needed to get some off the roof of our two-story Cape. It was piled higher than I ever saw it, and TV reports of roofs caving in motivated me to action.
Now, I'm not the snappiest Yankee that ever retorted, but every now and then, I have a flash of brilliance that amazes me. I've learned to keep these rare moments to myself, as unbiased examinations by strangers always seems to diminish them. But I share this one with you...I saw in an instant a sure way to get an answer to the nagging question, "Does she really love me?"
I came back in the house and went into her "office", a little cubbyhole where she makes artsy-crafty things. I was carrying a snow shovel and I said, "I need you to help me."
"Okay, what do you want me to do?"
In a very matter of fact voice, I said, "I'm going to crawl out of the upstairs window onto the roof, and I want you to hand me this shovel after I get out there."
Of course, this is a very stupid and dangerous thing to do, and no way was I actually going to do it. But the big question to me was, would she care? Even as I asked, I could see a small toenail (#10) lodged in her hair.
She looked at me in amazement as it dawned on her what I was saying. The look of incredulity was priceless! I couldn't help it, and I began to laugh. She smiled and then she laughed too. She loves me!
I gave her a kiss and gently removed the toenail, undetected.
Cabin fever is gone and Spring is just around the corner.
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A lot of this is true. She's a wonderful woman.
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