Saturday morning came and went, until Maxine licked me in the face.
She’s my chocolate dog. My wife would never do that—she has a pretty face.
That’s one thing I appreciate about being married to her (her face, and that she doesn’t wake me up when I’m trying to sleep).
My dog is in danger of getting kicked in the morning though, but I never do that.
I restrain myself, because I know she snuggles in bed with me, and I don’t want a dog with sharp teeth or a woman with scissors to be mad at me, when she gets close to my intimate parts.
Afterall, this is the age of vengeance and female gods.
Dog, is God, spelled backward.
I’m a nice guy. I love my mother, and I wear different colored sweaters that make me look intelligent, boring, and conservative.
I was and still am the ultimate catch— for a woman who has had the epiphany that she’s past the age of 30, and needs to get married.
That, and I live with three females: my wife, my mother, and my dog. Not always in that order—it depends on that time of the month (if you know what I mean?).
It’s unnatural for a man to live with women, to work with women, and to go to church with women. Women, become a religion—like God, you can never get away from them.
That’s what a man says after his life is over, but luckily, I’ve had the epiphany too, so I’m protected, right?
I walked downstairs.
“Your orange juice is on the table, with a fresh cup of coffee,” my wife said.
She’s East Indian—that’s one way I bypassed the feminist, but even then, the virus is spreading.
“Your mother took the dog for a walk, and said that she found something.”
“Oh—what’s that?” I asked.
“Some kind of vandalism?”
“I moved us to a farm, to get away from those asshole kids.”
“You work with them, honey.”
“I know I work with them. I keep my distance. Their brains aren’t fully-developed.
“Honey, we might want to have one of them, soon.”
I waved my hands up in the air, and grabbed my coffee.
“Now, what’s this you wanted to show me, mom?”
She was sitting in her rocking chair, with a smile on her face. “I’m just enjoying the birds. You need to follow God more.”
“I look for Him, but he’s invisible—I’m hearing voices though.”
“Good,” she said.
“I’m worried that you think that.”
“Now, what’s this about vandalism?”
“Over in your corn field—somebody knocked the stocks down.”
To be continued…