Springtime has a strange effect on us.
Folks act crazier than usual. Kids run wild. Men are strange. Housewives turn loopy.
All by myself, yesterday, I went to a pond and played in the water like a kid. I caught frogs in the sunshine. Built dams in the stream. Threw rocks. But then a frog got squished and died.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, my Cell phone slipped out of my brassiere and went plunk into the pond water. I snatched up the Cell fast, but not fast enough. It went to beeping and squeaking. Turning off and on… I’ve never seen a cell phone carry on like that. It’s worse than a dying frog.
In despair, I watched it struggle. Then Celly died right there in my hand…Just like the frog. I was beside myself. Still am.
I haven’t told my husband yet. You can’t tell a man those kinds of things…that his wife plays in pond water. Drops cell-phones from her brassiere. Kills frogs. It’s too much….just too much for any husband.
Michael’s already struggling. He suspects we have serious marital problems, I’m sure. The other day, I called him at work. I’d been working hard in the garden, and I was fuming. “I need you to bring me home some beer!”
“Yes, beer!” I said. “I’m throwing a party.”
Michael sounded cautious. “Darling. You know we don’t drink beer.”
“No—but the garden slugs do!” I said. “I’ll booze ‘em up and they’ll drown in the stuff. It’s an old home-remedy, you know.”
“Oh…right!” He sighed. “Ok, honey. I’ll pick you up some beer, if that’s what you want.”
Poor thing. He’s becoming more and more leery of my behavior in general. Springtime only makes matters worse.
Take last week, for example. It was a lovely spring morning and I was eager to resume the transplanting I’d started the day before…My husband had other ideas.
“Darling,” Michael said, “You know that big black masonry tub sitting near the potted trees? I need you to fill it with water and—”
I caught my breath. “Oh no!” I stared at him horrified, then burst into tears.
“What on earth?” He reached for me, but I only cried harder.
“Oh Michael! I didn’t know that big black pot was your masonry tub! You mix cement in it?”
“Yes…!” He groaned. “Aw honey! You didn’t put drain holes in my $100 masonry tub!”
“S-s-so sorry…! But the spruce tree needed a new pot!”
Poor Michael. I’m always ruining his stuff. Running over things in the driveway…Spilling and dropping and losing stuff…
Last month, though, I experienced a new low.
There I was in my car—parked on the side of the road, searching frantically–while my husband’s voice talked to me from far below. He was cool and collected, as usual. “Stay calm, dear….” he said.
“I’m trying.…!” I said. “If I can just get my hand down there and grab you—Ow!”
It wasn’t working. I could hear him slipping…Sliding even further….down…down. “Oh, what can I do?” I said with rising hysteria. “I can’t even see you any more…and here I am, parked on the side of the road. Cars are coming around the curve and we’re going to get hit… But don’t panic, darling. I’ll get you out!”
“I’m not panicking,” said the tiny voice on the speaker phone, “but it sounds like you are. Just calm down—”
“Oh no! You’re disappearing! Your voice is getting smaller and smaller. What if I can’t get you out?”
“I’ll be all right,” he said.
“Are you sure? You’re not panicking?”
“Well…I know you’re not panicking for yourself….but what about for me? I could get hit by cars—and you don’t even care? That shows that we have serious problems in our marriage, I’m sure!”
Problems, indeed. I don’t know how it can get much worse…I really don’t.
But I reckon it could, folks. I reckon it could.
Springtime has just begun…!