Today’s blog post is going up a little later than I had planned. Let me explain why.

I woke up at 6 AM, early for me on a Saturday morning. I contemplated the day ahead as I enjoyed my coffee and newspaper. It was going to be a great one. There was no customary honey-do list waiting for me on the kitchen table; the grass didn’t need mowing; nothing around the house needed fixing. The only item on the agenda was my blog post, which I could knock out by eight. I smiled, realizing that I had the rest of the long day free to puruse whatever mindless activity I fancied.

A few things came quickly to mind. I could catalog my CD collection; I could waste a few hours on the Internet searching for some good jokes about various types of people and animals who walk into a bar. Saturdays like these come to my house about as frequently as a total eclipse of the sun. Man, I was in tall cotton!

My wife had mentioned to me that she was planning to rent a cleaner to do some carpets. Sure, babe, I figured. Go ahead and knock yourself out while I retire to my man-cave for the day. Little did I know that she had an ulterior motive. After nearly twenty-five years of being married to her, it was my own fault that I didn’t see it coming.

Returning with the cleaner, my lovely bride casually mentioned that she might need “a little bit of help.”  OK, what husband who values his marriage could turn down a request like that? So, she starts juggling the various bottles of chemicals that they sold her and going through the instructions with that puzzled look like she was trying to figure out how to decontaminate a chemical weapons storage bunker.

Right about that time, my hopes for a relaxing day sank faster than a Sopranos’ victim in his concrete boots. Hubby in shining armor to the rescue!

Several hours later, I had successfully completed the task. Great; there was still enough time left in the day to find at least a few good bar jokes on the web.  Then, over our late lunch of leftover pizza, she made the comment that she would also like to wash the cars.  My last little bubble of hope went up in flames like the Hindenberg. 

So, now it’s 5 PM. The CD’s sit uncatalogued and I don’t have any new jokes to tell at the party tonight.

Babe, please don’t give me false hopes again next Saturday. Just leave me the honey-do list on the breakfast table.