The Bowl + The Pocketwatch
I don’t know what happened in the course of human history, but women have successfully coerced men into completing the banalest of tasks, many of which they’d never be caught dead doing. Ever. Like the one time back in college I dragged JD to Color Me Mine and insisted he paint a ceramic bowl with me. There he sat at a high stool surrounded by a group of screaming 8-year-olds and paintbrushes…and painted a bowl. And right then? I knew I was gonna marry him.
Yesterday I dragged JD on another Wife Trip…ANTIQUING. Yes, I just verbed a noun. That’s what you call a rule breaker. Awwww, yeah. Anyway, as we walked Portobello Road, we stopped at every store and I shopped for the perfect knick knack, which JD called old things…really expensive old things.
As luck would have it, Mr. Crotchety found himself a…wait for it…pocket watch. And he wore it. All day. He periodically took it out and told me the time as if he was competing with Big Ben…or the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
I’m now going to start being judicious with my Wife Trip invitations…I can always hide a bowl, but watches are a little more, umm, visible.
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