THE CRANKY OLD MAN
Random thoughts and stuff from a cranky old man. Humor (maybe), satire, and some politics, mostly stuff from a confused head.
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Guys, do you argue with your wife about how to do a household chore?
I work at home, my wife is near
The fate I face, is almost certain
And to all, I’ll say it clear
If I do it wrong, I will be hurtin
I’ve been told, my way is bull
It is her way, or else the highway
I know for sure, she will be pissed,
but I do it my way
I am not a
Sinatra fan, but when I have chores around the house I cannot get this song out of my head.
It is not my
wife; it is all women, or at least all women I’ve ever married.Chores must be done the wife’s way.
If a women
is around do not even bother loading the dishwasher.Wait until she leaves the room.Then load it and quick start it up.When it is finished you must also
unload.If you don’t she will see and complain
that you put knives in pointy end up.She will laugh at your poor usage of space and complain that you wasted
water doing the last six glasses by hand…then she will rewash those six
glasses.You will be assaulted for
putting Tupperware in the washer and assailed for having to fingernail scrape baked-on
She is gone, there’s a job to do
I do it with, all good intention
I do what I have to do, and I do it
with my own invention
She will say your way is worse; you
turn a job in to a play-day
It’s more, much more than this, I do
it my way
I will do
laundry, but I will not separate.I will
jam the machine till it bursts, add soap and nothing else.As long as she doesn’t see, then colors never
run and everything comes out white, bright, stains outta sight.
“Yes, I separated.Yes I used color guard.Yes I did multiple loads I said I separated
didn’t I? Damn, I know how to do laundry.”
Yes, there are times I lie.She can’t tell
The clothes are clean, they do not
The job is done, there is no doubt
I chewed it up, and I spit it out
I had to dare, to grow a pair, and do
it my way
I will clean
bathrooms but only when she is at work.Everything is sprayed with Windex, and the floors are mopped by wearing
old socks and doing my best imitation of the New York Rangers.
The toilet’s clean without Ajax
The sink is bright, the mirror clear
I finished up, I wipe my brow, and I have
a cold beer