Long ago in a different time I worked at a packinghouse to support my wife’s and kids’ addiction to food, clothing and heat. One day a guy I worked with told me he had joined the ‘Possum Club.
I studied him suspiciously. “You, who won’t buy Girl Scout Cookies from my daughter, joined a benevolent organization to raise money for charity?” I asked.
First of all the ‘Possums are not a benevolent organization,” he said. “They’ll let anyone join—I’m a Methodist, and they don’t care—and it’s not about raising money for charity. It’s about beer and poker.”
“Of course. How could I not see that,” I said. It started to make sense.
“It’s like this,” he explained. “After the meetings they stay at the lodge and drink beer and play poker until the wee hours of the morning. I love drinking beer and playing poker. But if I told my wife that I’m going out to drink beer and play poker until after midnight once a week, she’d yell at me for a half-hour and maybe leave me. I can’t have that. Nobody makes a pecan pie like she does.
“So I tell her I’m going out to raise money for poor, homeless, disease-plagued, handicapped orphans in Africa, and she says, ‘Awwwwe,’ and makes me a pecan pie.
“I’ve got it made. Every Wednesday I have pecan pie for dessert then go out and play poker and drink beer, and I’m a hero in my wife’s eyes.”
I had to admit the guy had a racket going. But it doesn’t work for everyone.
One Friday night my wife came into the living room while I was watching TV. She was carrying what looked like a handwritten copy of War and Peace.
“What you got there, Sweetheart?” I asked.
“It’s your honey-do list for this weekend,” she said. “The other half is up on the kitchen table. I’d like you to start with cleaning out the rain gutters first.”
Right away I knew I had to do something quick, so I borrowed a page from my friend at work.
“Oh, I would just love to get right on that,” I said, putting as much disappointment in my voice as I could manage. “The problem is, the Iowa DNR has just put out a notice that Spirit Lake is overpopulated with walleyes. It’s a dire emergency. If they don’t get some of them out, the entire ecosystem could suffer. I was planning on spending the weekend helping to thin down the population.”
I gave her my best disappointed look. I swear I could see pecan pies disappearing in front of my eyes.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“I AM NOT!” I protested, lying loudly. “Do you want our grandkids to grow up never knowing what a walleye looks like because they went extinct?”
Usually the grandkid card got me something, but this time her face looked as if there was a possibility that our grandkids may never see a pecan pie again.
“I’ll give you two reasons why I don’t believe you,” she said. “First: I’ve never heard of there being too many walleyes in a lake; and second, I’ve seen you fish, and your chances of actually catching a walleye and thinning down the population are about the same as if they needed the mermaid population thinned down.”
So I didn’t get to go fishing. On the bright side, by Monday you could see yourself in bottom of our rain gutters.
You sound just like my husband. He plays the grandkid card too.
that was a fun read
nice to see another satirical writer.
thanks a bunch for liking my post
Cheers mate
Same page numbers as Stephen King? You’re courting a lawsuit there.