By Jeff M. Brown
www.boredfactoryworker.com
“Home is where the heart is.” – Popular Saying
“Home is where the heart is, the Saltines, toothpaste, and toilet paper too, if I could just find them.” – Jeff Brown
Home Sweet Home
I had just finished making my world famous chili (well, it’s not really famous, but I like it and that’s what counts) and I was ready to eat some. I just needed two things to make the bowl perfect- shredded cheddar cheese to sprinkle over the top, and Saltine crackers. I found the cheese easy enough in the fridge, but I was having trouble locating the crackers. They weren’t in the cabinet where they were supposed to be.
I looked behind the package of dried spaghetti and row of soup cans. Nothing. I pulled out half a dozen cereal boxes. Still nothing. “Honey,” I called, “where are the crackers?”
She was in the living room working on her laptop. She replied in her usual authoritative, competent in all things related to the location of everything in my universe, matter-of-fact tone, “They’re in the bottom of the pantry.”
I crossed the kitchen and threw open the doors. Sure enough, there they were, mocking me from behind the pancake syrup. What’s happening to me? I wondered. I’m turning into one of those stereotypical husbands that can’t find anything without his wife’s help.
Unfortunately for me, the problem goes deeper than the crackers. Can you believe I have absolutely no idea where the pancake batter and AA batteries are? God forbid I have a strong waffle craving or need to change the smoke alarm batteries while my wife’s at work.
Jeff: (Dials his cell phone.) Honey, where’s the toilet paper?
Vickie: How many times have I told you not to call me at work unless there’s an emergency?
Jeff: This is an emergency.
All this confusion, I’m afraid, will drive this former bachelor up the proverbial wall. As time goes on, I sometimes wonder: Will I ever be comfortable again in my house, my palace, my former fortress of solitude? (Translation: Will I ever be able to find that new tube of toothpaste I bought last week? I need to brush away this chili breath.)
Since my wife moved in, a lot of my stuff, important stuff (well, not that important, but important to me) was replaced by my wife’s stuff. Due to space constraints, quite a few of our belongings (hers and mine) had to be put into storage. The aftermath has been difficult on this ancient 40-year-old who’s set in his ways. My years of bachelorhood certainly weren’t the most organized, but I always knew where the spare 6-pack of Chapstick was hidden. (Okay, I admit it. I have a problem.)
Vickie, a veteran of many moves in her life, is better at coping with change than the pets and me. For example, my daughter’s cat, Waterfall, used to be king of the world. Now he has to share his kingdom with my wife’s dog. They’re getting along okay for the most part, but there’s still the occasional power struggle.
Waterfall: Kneel before me and pledge to never come near my food bowl again.
Dog: Oh, I’m so scared. (He does a little dance and grabs a bite of food.) What are you going to do about that?
Waterfall: That’s my litter box, you numskull.
A few nights ago while my wife and I relaxed on the couch, I looked around and realized that everything in the world that was important to me was right there within my sight. Waterfall was perched nearby in the window and the dog was snoozing faithfully at our feet. Everything seemed perfect- everything except the horrible sci-fi movie that my wife was watching. It was definitely time, in my opinion, to change the channel.
Too bad I couldn’t find the remote.