Three more days until Susie comes home. Still no dirty dishes left in the sink. I have considered making this week of bachelordom the theme of this week’s newspaper column but I have already done a column like that twice in the past few years, writing about doing laundry and about having to do my own cooking. I pride myself on never repeating themes in my columns although after eight years of this, it becomes harder to find something new to write about.
I’m not really sure why I worry about it. Rush Limbaugh says the same thing every day and he’s been doing that a lot longer than I have been doing my thing. Plus, he’s getting paid 400 million dollars to do it.
Anyway, back to the old dog story. Before I married Susie, I ate every meal with something to read in my hand. I couldn’t eat unless I had a magazine, newspaper or book as my companion. It’s not like I was weird or anything. I just liked to read. Some people have to have a bathroom reader for accompaniment. I’ve never brought up anything of that nature to Susie and it kind of weirds me out even now associating bathroom habits with meal time.
My Mom, bless her soul, never seemed to mind my reading habit. Quite the contrary. She was quite the reader herself. She always made sure that there was room for my book or paper. Now that she’s gone, I sure hope she didn’t mind and only did it too keep her little boy happy.
A couple of times when Susie and I were going together, we had dinner with my mom and I read some narrative out of one of my Shell Scott detective novels to her since she was just sitting there with nothing to do but eat.
“Do you do that a lot?” she asked?
“Read while you’re eating.”
“What else would I do?” I said, shocked at the suggestion that some people didn’t read at the table.
“You could always talk to the other people at the table. That;s what we do in the city.” She told me very sweetly. My mom smiled at me with what I could only describe as a look of warning on her face.
Susie, a fairly voracious reader herself, nipped my habit of reading in the bud immediately after we professed our eternal love and devotion at the foot of the altar in Fountain Square’s St. Patrick’s church. Even though I don’t remember there being any mention of something like that in the vows. Susie explained that it falls under the subheading of ‘for better or worse’.
When I went to take my first bite of wedding cake and picked up our marriage license to read at the same time, Susie removed the document from my hand and laid it on the table next to the toaster her Aunt had gotten us. With an angelic smile on her face, she said “No reading at the dinner table, sweetie. You’re in the big city now.”
“But Hon,” I said. “This isn’t dinner.” I totally understood her reasoning. I had dinner on more than one occasion with her eight siblings, at that time ages eight to 25. There were also two parents, a grandmother and the grandmother’s boyfriend. There was no chance to read. The noise level alone precluded any thought of concentrating on a book.
Susie was ready for that argument. “I know, darling but eating is accompanied by conversation, not a nose stuck in some bit of printed material.”
Well, it was our wedding reception. no point in a disagreement already. With trembling hand, I picked up the piece of rich, chocolaty cake and. …….
G2 NOTE——– I just realized I have an unused theme for this week’s column. No point in continuing with this. You can read about it in the newspaper. Preferably at the dinner table.
I’m going to take the dog for a walk. Those of you who don’t have a dog, Remind me to tell you how to pick up dog droppings with a plastic bag.