I never watch television anymore. It seems so tame. I can’t sit through a whole program to save my life. I try sometime, but I just can’t do it. My mind is on the computer. I’m thinking about what I could be doing, where I could be going.
My hubby talks to the back of my head. Sometimes I hear him. I answer, “uh huh”. By the time I realize he has said something, I turn around and he is gone. Oh well, he’ll be back.
Probably just complaining about the tree again, anyway. He hates trees that drop stuff on his car.
Don’t feel sorry for him though. I spent the first forty years of our marriage, trying to get a conversation going. He is either watching TV, or out dusting his car. He is a man of expertise in the art of short answers. and he never accepts a difference of opinion, from anyone. You are WRONG.
He becomes very upset if Speed Vision changes its schedule, so that he misses something.
He loves his car. He considers himself an expert of classic cars. At the moment, he owns a ’65 Olds. dynamo, 4-door hardtop. That is the way he describes it. You have to say the whole thing.
No one is allowed to touch it. Cats come from the Devil. Birds leave their calling cards, but don’t stay to visit. In a parking lot, he is one of those that take two parking places. He got one of those Disabled Person parking tags to hang on his mirror. Those parking spaces are extra wide. He loves them. No one will bang his car with their door.
I won’t use the tag though, I always park away from the door of the store. I need the exercise. That walk is the only exercise I ever get. Then I hurry home. I am right back on the computer. I feel better. I took a walk.
I found out a few weeks ago that he is secretly looking for another car. He wants to trade my car for one. He was talking in a joking manner to my son, so I didn’t pay any attention to it.
Any conversation hubby is engrossed in has to be about cars.
But, he came in one day and said he’d talked to someone about an old car, and they wanted to look at mine. No! I told him. I am keeping my car. I like my car. My car is faithful. It takes me where I want to go, and it gets me home bravely. If he wants the other so badly, he can trade his for it! Oh, shoot! I have to find and hide the Title!
If he would wait for a few more years, mine will be a classic. Then, he would want to buy it back.
To get his mind off of trading my car, I figured he needed something to do. I went to the nursery and brought home some flowers to plant.
I told him, “get the shovel, dig a hole, and stick it!”
He has been planting flowers for a few years, since his retirement. I try to only get the ones that are tough though. He knows nothing about them. He will water them to death. “Well, they were dry.” Un huh. I don’t know what to do with him.
My son went out to a bird farm, and picked up all their old bird cages, and little birdhouses. Old, rusty, and in need of rejuvenating, just like my husband.
We were hoping he would jump in, see the potential, go get some paint and make them pretty again. Sounds good to me. But no, they are still lying out in the corner of my yard, piled up. I said, “You could paint little flowers, and birds on them. You could put artificial flowers inside, a plastic bird on the swing, and hang them from the tree limbs. No. Not interested. Well, what about a computer? You could go to the W.W.W. and look up classic cars. “No. It’s not the same as touching them. I would rather go to someone’s junk yard, or back forty. I was talking to a guy the other day, who knew a guy, who has a ’36 in his garage, just sitting there rusting away.” I thought he was going to cry.
So, not being able to trade my car for another, he takes his polish and rags, and heads back to his car. Smiling. I head back to my computer. Smiling. That’ll keep him busy for a few hours.