Old Man And The Nagging Wife He was tall, dark and handsome. We were so happy together. Our family had blossomed into something amazing. The kids have grown up now and we’re both still here, in the same old house, with the same old recliners, and the same old station wagon that has about seven years of dirt built up on it. I fix him dinner every night while he watches the television. Usually he’s flippin’ through stations so fast you can’t focus your eyes on anything flying across the screen. It’s like a damn strobe light. Tonight I made my famous broccoli casserole for dinner. Jim loves my cooking, especially my casseroles! I wish sometime we could sit together for dinner and have a normal conversation. We could talk about what happened today and what all we did or saw. Well… we used to do that. I guess that’s when we were involved in stuff. * * * She was young and cute. She had one of those bodies that you could only dream about. We were perfect for each other. Never argued over what to listen to on the radio. We were so perfect we made a family together. The kids left and we’re both still here… same house… same yard… same old casseroles. She makes one every other night for dinner while I sit here trying to find something on the television. I wish for one night she’d stop nagging about how fast I flip through the channels. I can’t help there’s nothing ever on these days, and I’m defiantly not watching some dumb home decorating show with one of those flamers. Jeans making one of her “famous” broccoli casseroles tonight. I sometimes wonder if she really likes eating it, cause she might just be smiling cause I am. And I’m just smiling cause she’d kick and scream if I didn’t. * * * He’s always smiling, but it’s a fake smile, and after a while I get confused and begin to smile too. He used to smile at me like that, that cheap little grin. He’d always give me that look right before “bedtime.” But nowadays I get the look, then he gets up and goes to smoke his ciggerete. I get so upset with him sometimes cause he’s so quiet. He’s always silent when I want to talk, and when he does decide to say something he just gets upset and starts yelling about stupid things… like the weather. * * * I hate cold weather. When the cold rolls in I have to stay inside. That means the woman and me are in the same room together for long periods of time. Neither of us have jobs anymore. I retired six years ago when I was fifty-five. I was the best photographer around. All Jean did was take peoples blood pressure and check their temperature. She’d always come home bitching about how hard work was that day, and how much tougher it was compared to what I do. She’s just one of those people that likes to argue with others. * * * He picked up that bad smoking habit when he started working at the local photography studio. He’d always come home smelling nasty and complaining about how horrible his job was. Which made me yell about mine. He’s just one of those people that wants you to feel sorry for him. That’s why I just leave him alone and let him smoke his cigarettes while I wash the dishes from dinner. * * * It’s so cold outside. If only Jean wouldn’t complain about the smell I could sit inside and smoke. Nobody comes over here anymore anyways. We’re old… I know that… she just doesn’t understand. The only person that comes over is our granddaughter Sarah. She just got us a new cat. Well… I guess it’s not ours yet, but like everything else she gets that can breathe, its ends up here. The cat’s orange, so she named it Pumpkin. Seemed a little unoriginal to me, but her reason involved love or something. She was talking about how her new significant other called her “Pumpkin.” That’s awful forward of him to be calling her “Pumpkin.” But then again I only hear bits and pieces of her life. I guess it’s “un-cool” to talk to your papaw about your love life. But… if I’m so boring, think how boring Jean is. * * * That stupid cat keeps jumping on the door. I know it’s cold outside but I just can’t go lettin’ it in all the time. It needs to learn where it belongs. It belongs with Jim. They’d probably get along great together because they’re so freakin’ annoying. My granddaughter brought the cat by earlier when she came to visit. I guess she just forgot it. We had been talking so long about how her life was going it must have ran off, but here it is, messin’ up the paint on my front door. Sarah and I spent a long time sitting by the fire while she told me about her latest love encounter. She talked about how handsome he was and how he was so funny. I love hearing about the people she’s been getting to know. Hearing about all the things her and her boyfriend do takes me back a few years. Well… a lot of years. I can remember Jim and I’s first date. He was hot stuff. I can remember how his hand felt felt when he walked me to his brand new red Camaro. He opened my door and already had it running so I wouldn’t be cold. He drove nice and slow, so I would feel comfortable. He didn’t try any sneaky stuff like kissing me or touching my leg. He was the perfect gentleman. When the night was over he walked me to the door. We stood they for a few minutes. I said my thank you’s, he said his. He told me how much he enjoyed my company and how much fun he’d had. I saw a side of him that you’ll never get to see in any ordinary guy. He kissed me on my cheak, and I kissed him back. Not because I felt obligated to, but because I wanted to. I walked inside and went straight to my room. I could barely get to sleep that night because my thoughts were running circles in my head. I was so excited I had found someone so amazing. I couldn’t wait to see him again. * * * I think she’s crazy. The woman has gone nuts. Tonight at dinner all she could talk about was what we used to do. I got to hear about our first date, going to the drive-in and how much of a gentleman I used to be. Used to be? What the... I can think of plenty of things that I’ve done recently that are gentlemanlike. I mean just the other day I took out the trash without being asked. You’d think that’d get me some praise. I remember how it was back in the day. She acts like I’ve forgotten. I can probably remember more than her. You want a first date? I got a first date for ya. One winter night I showed up at her house in my brand new red Camaro. I can even remember how it smelled. I had just gotten the inside cleaned, and it had a brand new paint job. I chose red because that’s what color all sports cars are. I had waxed it the day before our date, so it shined even though it was dark outside. I’d wanted that car since forever. I couldn’t wait to pick her up. I knew she would like it. Why wouldn’t she like it? We went to the movies and got a bite to eat. Then I took her home. We had fun… man that was a nice car. So… like I said, I remember everything. * * * This whole night has been completely perfect. Reminiscing about the days we first met, talking about how much we are in love. Convencing ourselves that things havn’t changed. Holding hands across the dinner table while we ate. Starring into each others old eyes. Well, not old… just experienced. We both were experienced. We had lived together for so long. Who wouldn’t get fed up with one another? After tonight I felt like we had bonded. We were closer as a couple. I didn’t mind doing the dishes tonight. I felt like a different person. Me and Jim came together like old times. For that one meal we had a special moment. It felt like we were twenty again… we got along. * * * Dinner tasted better than usual tonight, no casseroles. She’s probably trying to poison me, or something. And tomorrow she’ll find me lying out here with this damn cat, dead as a doorknob. I don’t know how much more of that whole talking thing I could of handled. And the smiling?! Geez… the smiling sucked! But honestly, I miss it. Made me realize what’s important. * * * Of course he has to blare the damn TV at seven in the morning. He just likes making me mad as soon as I wake up. He’s not so damn old that he can’t hear. Not that it’d matter if he couldn’t. I’ve been trying to get him to go to the doctor for years. He just won’t listen to me. He’s too damn stubborn. * * * I can’t hear one thing over her yelling and complaining. I guess we’re having a casserole for dinner…
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