Sometimes, in the middle of the day, I get a loving email from my loving husband, just to say how much he loves me. HEY! Stop that! I will NOT pay for surgery to repair the hernia you just gave yourself while laughing too hard! Nor will I foot the bill for your concussion due to loss of consciousness from lack of oxygen during your gales of laughter. Hick DOES send me emails!
Like last Wednesday. He doesn't put anything in the subject area. You know. To surprise me with his tender poetry expressing his feelings for me. Oh, I'm surprised all right!
"Look what the mouse did to my plastic drawer."
WHAT KIND OF POETRY IS THAT???
Hick is not a poet, and we all know it. His email wasn't even about me! It was about himself! About his possessions. Of which there are less now, from the looks of the corners of his drawer.
That's over in the BARn. Hick has a problem with mice eating his stuff. Not all the time. Randomly. It wasn't any better when we had five cats. A mouse will get in and have a heyday. Of course, maybe Hick shouldn't leave such tasty items as plastic drawers laying around to tempt the rodents.
"What's that in the drawer?"
"WHAT? That's not fish hooks!"
"Yes, Val. [heavy sigh] It's treble hooks."
"That's not any kind of hook I've ever seen. I bet they don't work very well for catching fish!"
"Oh. Them's handles."
"I thought they looked like some kind of tool. Drawer handles?"
"No. They're fishing rod handles."
"If you say so..."
I don't see it, but my fishing poles have always been bought off the shelf at Walmart for under $20. So maybe I don't know the fancy handleage of the newer or more classy models.
Maybe they even make a pole now that can write poetry, to reel in a wife...