Let’s stroll back in time. Our darling neighbors are back on the mountain. We stopped by their home yesterday, and up for discussion came the Texas flag that we’re proudly displaying to welcome them. To welcome them, and for the celebration of Sam Houston’s birthday on the date of their arrival last Tuesday. Rusty said, Honey, it’s wasn’t Sam Houston’s birthday, it was the birth date of [insert name of some other dead Texan here]. I said, No, it was Sam Houston. Rusty said, No it was . . . blah, blah, blah. Okay, dear, I replied.
Well our neighbor (who is Scottish) jumped all over that noting how quickly I acquiesced to my husband’s brilliance. I assured John that if I had my calendar with me, I would at that very moment be flipping to the November 3 page to prove Rusty wrong. But John’s point was made . . . wives should all be happy little ladies, such as myself, and support their husbands, if not in silence, then with a smile, a cocktail, and a wink-and-a-nod. Actually, John implied almost nothing of the kind. He’s Scottish . . . therefore way too smart for such talk among the lassies. Way too smart.
Moments ago my computer popped up with a window saying that Your Sarcasm Is Not Responding. Now I ask you, is that the ultimate in irony? Is that truly mind-blowingly ironic? Yes, in order to have a Sarcasm Not Responding prompt, one must have a Sarcasm folder, and I do . . . oh, I do.
