Bring out your dead.

I never took that statement literally, until today. We know Raynard has very specific limitations, and I am okay with most of them.
1. He has a head shaped like a potato, it makes his hair easier to cut.
2. He makes lists and forgets to put me on them, that is why the Good Lord blessed me with the ability to write. I can do for myself.
3. He gets sick… often; like humans do. (Sorry Raynard, that puts you out of the Super Hero running. You don’t see Batman running down the street with a Kleenex in one hand and Tamiflu in the other.)
Not to mention, that he waited to let those germ bugs penetrate until the DAY BEFORE we left for our first alone time holiday since Stinky Pete was born. Yes, we have had tickets to see Skud’s first college performance, hotel room and babysitter secured for the last month. We had plans to sleep naked, late and pretend like we didn’t have children.
Cal offered to make plague curing soup, but I up’d his life insurance recently. Cal has also dealt with Swine Flu atleast 3 times in the last 3 months. I can’t risk that she be infected again by my home. Cal offered to leave the soup on the stoop like they did in the days of cholera…. but who am I to intervene in Raynard’s fate? So I figured let the planets align as they may. Then all I have to do is worry about what to do with the damn dog.
So I have decided to go on my romantic holiday stag. This is for Raynard’s benefit as much as mine. I haven’t had a day off from work in many moons, last thing I want to do is listen to my spouse whine and cry from the sofa for more hot tea. He will be better off without me and suffer much less wrath. The only other option was to prop him up like “Weekend at Bernie’s.”
Now tell me, what would you do?

One thought on “Bring out your dead.

  1. Pingback: Lewis. F’n. Black | Reptiles in the Ice Cream

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