Well, I’m back. I would have been back sooner, but I had to mow my lawn Normally I write my articles first and then I mow my lawn, but my wife got to me first. It takes about two days to do it right, (that is stop for a cold drink, nap, watch the news, etc.) If I don’t do it right it takes about two hours. (according to my wife).And if you add that stupid lot next door that only serves two purposes, (it holds our storage room and grows grass.) it’s a big distraction from writing articles. This time I didn’t want to do it. That caused the usual argument. Sometimes a man has to stand up for himself and put things in the right order of priorities, firmly but politely.
“I have to write an article.” I argued.
“O.K., a and an, that’s two,” she replied, now a little peeved, “Takes about two seconds, what else?”
God , I hate it when women try to pull their education on me in an argument.
O.K. , but she has descended into a writer’s territory now. Us authors know about that kind of stuff.
“But I don’t know if I want to write about “an apple” or “a car,” I prodded her.
“Well, it depends if you are writing about any “apple” you have to use an indefinite article like “an” since “apple” starts with a vowel. But if you are writing about a specific “apple” you have to use “the” like in “The Apple in the Garden Of Eden.” “Now can we mow?”
Holy crap! Can you wait just a minute while I write that down. I might need that sometimes. Well, evidently she had been punished enough, which was evident in her next statement.
“Besides I’m baking something you like very much,” she teased.
“A chocolate cake!,” I almost shouted, losing my cool.
“No” she grinned.
My heart fell.
“The chocolate cake,” she corrected again. “Mind your articles”
“The triple layer, double frosted, double fudge chocolate cake that I like”
Now I was catching on. She lost that argument big time.
Thinking about “The” Chocolate cake that was baking, I thought what ever happened to the sweet agreeable little girl that I used to sit with in the back seat of my ’57 Chevy,at the drive in movie (And for you read between the liners doing your little computing, I could have bought the ’57 Chevy much later and yes drive in movies were still around until about the seventies.)
And what the hell did the Garden of Eden have to do with anything. That’s just like women, they try to confuse you, but I have learned not to be confused. I can see past all that. I’m also sure of one thing, when Mother’s teach their daughters to bake chocolate cake, it’s for lots of reasons other than housekeeping.
They know what they are doing. Men are going to have to learn some things other than driving tanks.
Just then I ran out of gas in the middle of the lot.
I was half through the lot mowing when my son drove up with more junk to store in my store room.
“Why don’t you build your own storage,” I asked. as we struggled with an old torn sofa that would look better in the junkyard.
“Gosh, Dad we don’t have the extra cash until we build our home.
“And when’s that,” I asked hopefully.
“Oh, in about 2 years or so,” he said nonchalantly, “Dad, could you help me with this car engine, it’s pretty heavy”
“How did she run out of gas,” I moaned, to my wife, who had just received a call from our daughter.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I would guess that a better way of saying it would be she used it all up”
“But she’s got a new car,” I sputtered. “They don’t run out of gas , do they”
Standing in the middle of the freeway, holding an empty gas can, I’m thinking. Is this all fathers are for, to peddle gas on the freeway for my daughter, build storage buildings for my son and mow my wife’s grass. My daughter had spun off after the fill up with a quick “Thank You Dad, you’re the greatest” Shouldn’t I get paid or something? It seems to be much cheaper to have your father bring you gas than to buy it at the station. I felt a little lonely on the side of this busy thoroughfare holding my empty gas can.
“Why does he have to fill my storage up when they have storage all over town,” I said to my wife.
” Well we don’t have too much in there.”
“I have lots in there ,” I countered.
“It’s mostly junk, for example that old car seat you have in there takes up a lot of room.”
“That’s not junk.”I said. “It’s the back seat from my ’57 Chevy. Don’t you remember the nights at the drive in in that back seat”
“That wasn’t me!,” she turned around sharply. I never did sit in the back seat of a ’57 Chevy with you” “You had a ’65 Dart when we were dating.”
“’65 Dart!,” I exclaimed.
“Who did you sit with in the back seat of a ’57 Chevy ?”
“You,” I screamed.
“Wasn’t me,” she screamed back,” Now who was it?”
“I have to get back to mowing,” I passed The chocolate cake on my way out.
In my ’57 Chevy seat in the now crowded storage, I was now completely confused. ’65 Dart. Garden of Eden. ’57 Chevy. The chocolate cake.
What has happened to my memory? Am I getting senile?.
So I decided to write this article and here it is: “a” Well, I told you I was confused.
Any how now I’m sitting amongst my son’s junk. My daughter’s car is probably getting close to empty again, the mowing isn’t finished yet, my wife is asking questions I can’t answer and worst of all I don’t know if I will get any of THE CAKE
At that moment though in my deepest despair, I heard the familiar squeaking of the storage door. My wife peeked inside, walked over to me in my ’57 Chevy seat, sat down beside me and with the brightest smile handed me the biggest slice of triple layer, double frosted, double fudge chocolate cake I had ever seen. “Now I have ,” she said still beaming.