Archive for the ‘THE KING & I’ Category

The King took The Royal Canines to the veterinarian office for their yearly check up after months of polite reminding, leading to eventual screaming “we live in the woods with rabid animals dear and I will not take your for rabies shots after they bite you.”  This responsibility is clearly outlined in that marital responsibilities contract I still cannot locate. 

Mr. Frodo, who weighs in excess of 100 pounds, is hauled up on the table, receives the necessary shots and invasion of his orifices.  The vet begins the usual mantra of why on earth this animal is so large and other items that outline our canine neglect.

Mr. Frodo is 5 years old and has well, let’s say he has never gotten lucky.  The female vet grabs his “sacks” starts massaging them and indicates to The King that she could remove them.  Mr. Frodo is thrilled for all human contact, but this personal service is exceeding his expectations.  The King is speechless, very uncomfortable and unable to make eye contact with the kind lady who has cared for our animals for years.  He swears the site of our vet having foreplay with our labrador is shocking to his manhood moral compass.  Yeah right, this is the same man who volunteered Mr. Frodo’s services to a co-worker if his female lab was looking for a friend with benefits.  Now I know the love of my life has watched his share of porn, but it he swears it did not include animal fondling while discussing heartworms, dietary concerns and flea protection for a full three minutes. 

The King’s annual check-up with our family physician is in a few months, bet he has a flash black.  Especially, if a reminder is casually dropped at the right time, because clearly that is my job.  The King may now be suffering from Post Traumatic Vet Visit Disorder.  Not only because he had to witness one of our dogs getting hot action in the vet’s office, but he was graciously permitted to pay $458 for the pleasure.


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A bit of a plumbing issue here On The Ponderosa.  The toilet in the master bath runs constantly after flushing, it will stop if you repeatedly jiggle the handle a gazillion times (the only scientific repair in my arsenal).  The King is not disturbed by the nightly noise echoing from our bathroom, in fact, as I mentioned before, his sleep is rarely disturbed.  Since insanity or maiming of plumbing fixtures is just around the bend I decided to approach The King for his expertise in home repair.  Before I go on, let me say The King personally built our home with his own two hands and those of family and friends bribed with grilled red meat and alcohol.  It is a beautiful home.  I treasure it.  I am in awe of his dedication to our family to provide this shelter. 

Okay, had to mention that as not to appear an ungrateful spouse.  Back to the incessant noise in my master bath.  For background information I will note that The King never enters this bathroom, it is a long story involving the collection of health and beauty aids required to support the females On The Ponderosa.  When I presented my concern to The King, he offered some insight that you may not have considered if you suffer this plight in your own home.


Queen:  The toilet in the master bath is running constantly.

King:  Go catch it then.

Queen:  You are so funny that I have decided to let you live.

King:  Did you jiggle the handle?

Queen:  Your life expectancy is decreasing by the minute.

King:  (innocent look)

Queen:  Yes I jiggled but it needs your expert attention.

King:  I will check it.

Three weeks later……

Queen:  The toilet is still running.

King:  Oh yeah, I checked it and there is nothing wrong with it.

Queen:  But it is running constantly and keeping me awake.

King:  Don’t flush it before you go to sleep.

Queen:  Do you want to eat actual cooked food again?

King:  No really, I know what the problem is.

Queen:  Want to share?

King:  Yes, you are flushing it TOO HARD.

Queen:  (no response but seething glare)

The King goes in to lengthy dialogue of appropriate amount of pressure required on handle to effectively flush toilet and not tangle the chain connected to the flapper.  He then proceeds to demonstrate on the toilet in his bathroom to educate me on the correct method. 

Then I shot him right there next to the tub and his non-running toilet.

Fortunately for The King our firearms are kept in a closet far from his bathroom.  While I expressed my thanks for his in-depth physics experiment and I reminded him this was not my first rodeo with flushing.  In fact, I have had an license to operate a toilet for 39 years.  Clearly outlined in our marriage vows and contract was his personal responsibility for plumbing concerns.  That’s the problem with those marriage contracts that disappearing ink, enforcing the terms can be difficult.  Sometimes tough negotiation is required.  I will lay odds that when he repeatedly cannot locate toilet tissue in his bathroom that my toilet will receive miraculous repair.

That my friends is marital relations in the bathroom here On The Ponderosa.

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Okay, let me just admit I had a great laugh at The King’s expense last week.  Having feasted on his favorite meal, with fresh jalapenos and margaritas he was preparing to retire.  For the King, this includes removing his daily wear contacts.  He returned from removing his contacts declaring he had a Public Service Announcement for all contact lens wearers.  Since he tends to be a bit on the sarcastic side, I waited for the punch line.  There was none.  His advice “if you have jalapenos for supper and tasted a few directly from your fingers, do not, he repeats, do not ever remove your contacts after your meal.”  He adds that washing your hands prior to removal, which is his habit, will not help in the least.

Being the Guru of All Things Spicy and having intimate knowledge of food preparation, I exclaim boastfully that, of course, you should not touch any orifice after handling hot peppers.  Even though his eyes resembled something from a great horror movie, he gave me an Oscar worthy eye roll.  Ever self-righteous, I added that if he were genetically blessed, like me, he could wear overnight lenses.  Then he would be able to handle all the peppers his stomach desired and never need to consider optical aid removal.  This of course warranted unnecessary sign language from The King for my inspirational words of comfort for his plight.  

On any given month I can wear my contacts without so much as a drop of rewetting solution.  Nor do I normally feel the need to rinse my contacts (I hope that my opthamalogist never reads that sentence.)  Remember me, aforementioned Queen of the ocular blessing?  Reality slap is coming.

This week while mowing the lawn, some insect of The Ponderosa had the audacity to land on my contact.  Rushing to the bathroom I grabbed the bottle of contact rinse solution and flushed the eye under attack.  Did I notice I grabbed the bottle with the clearly marked RED CAP?  Oh no, I will add here that Karma is a great equalizer.  My right eye was no longer concerned with the offending particle, it was consumed by the feeling of battery acid burning out my cornea.  In my haste, I had picked up The King’s contact solution, which clearly is not a lens rinse.  It is disinfectant used to soak his contacts nightly.

Now, I might have escaped HRH’s jokes at my expense had my eye lid not swelled to the size of an egg and my sinus passages not tried to escape my body.  His parting remarks, purely for his enjoyment…he who laughs last laughs the loudest.

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