I'm playing guitar. (Not up to snuff)
Paying my dues at work. (I bet you do the same)
Keeping the students in line and good form. (Family is where you find it sometimes)
Walking the walk, getting in shape (Summertime and the livin' is easy...)
Lookin forward to a BBQ. (Add your own rhetorical question)
Mostly wonderin where the hours that I keep stashed away disappear too.
I ain't too worried about where I'm goin. Just tryin' to make sense of where I've been.
It doesn't really matter how long you tread upon the earth. There are still mysteries to be uncovered, new facts to absorb and experiences that will cause you to re-assess the way you look the world around you. What is unexpected is new and interesting developments between couples who have been married for more than seven years and have hopefully survived the itch.
But last week I discovered something deeply disturbing. Something so horrific that I tremble as I recall the incident for your consideration.
(Cue music: You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is
another dimension: a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of
mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and
ideas. You've just crossed over into... the Married Zone. )
Last week we decided to dress ourselves up and go out for drinks, dinner and a movie, but not in that particular order. That in itself is not abhorrent, but what occurred as we were applying the final touches to our appearance is. I generally give the mastress of the house full reign of the bathroom mirror so she can do whatever it is that girls do to make themselves pretty for us.
I had finished dressing and had been waiting patiently for about forty minutes when I realized that I had forgotten to put on cologne. I surreptitiously slipped up to the mirror and it was a s I was reaching for my bottle of Paco Rabbane that I noticed she was trimming her eyebrows, hmmmm, interesting. It was then! There in her hands!! The offensive object!!!
What are you using to trim your brows?
What does it look like?*
looks like a pair of scissors.
You're brighter than you look. I knew there was a reason I married you.
Um, Do you know what I use them for, where they've been?
Well, alright then.
(* translated from the original Japanese)
But it wasn't alright. No, not at all. For the rest of the evening the same thought loitered at the perimiter of my thoughts and intruded upon every moment. Each time I looked at her: while driving downtown, buying tickets to the show, sharing a menu to order food, and clinking glasses as we approached inebriation-each laugh, every questioning look or smile was tinged with a patina of verdigis. The scissors hung in the air between us and will do so until I go out and buy her a pair of her own.You must understand. The offending tool is not your ordinary implement of death and destruction. They have been to a place and been used for a purpose that usually goes unmentioned.
I use them to trim my nostril hair.....The horror...The horror