Thoughts from the cold-cuts aisle.

I was at the grocery store tonight, and I caught some dude checking me out. His wife was looking down at some lunchmeat, pretending she didn't see it.

I thought to myself how many times I've done the same thing---pretended not to notice that whomever I was with was ogling somebody else. Sadly, it's happened hundreds of times.

And then I thought, what I really love is when a man has the balls not to look at me at all. Any old schmuck can goggle at every woman that walks by. But it takes a real man, in my opinion, not to look (and what's more, not to CARE). THAT'S when you know when you've landed a great guy---he's out in public with you, and he's not looking at anyone BUT you, because he just doesn't care who else is around. It's a pity more men aren't like that.

And THEN I stopped and thought about the deteriorating state of marriage nowadays. Does it matter that so many people are checking out OTHER people when they're out with someone supposedly special? What does that say to your spouse, when your eyes are glued to somebody across the room?

(I, for one, immediately felt sorry for the lunchmeat lady with the bonehead husband.)

The past few years, it seems the emphasis has moved away from nurturing the most important people in our lives---our loved ones---to everything else imaginable. We're inundated by work, by celebrity "news," by TV shows we just can't miss, by whatever sport we're obsessed with, etcetera, etcetera---and we spend countless hours dwelling on such pointless pursuits.

I wonder, if we focused a little less on the above distractions, and put a little more effort into making our spouses feel good, and feel wanted (starting with NOT eyeballing random girls at the supermarket)---would things would be any different?

Eee!

A (Unfortunately for everyone involved) true story.

Once upon a time, there was a wiley beagle who came down with stomach troubles.

He threw up all over the bed and the floor.

The next day, he threw up (massive quantities) again.

His stomach gurgled as though an angry bobcat was attempting to claw its way out.

He threw up YET AGAIN on the third day, which was mistaken for poo because it was brown and--how you say--NOT QUITE SOLID BUT ALMOST. (He hid behind the bed when it was discovered, as he seemed to understand its poo-like resemblance.)

Later that third day, the beagle was taken for a walk, as it was nice out.

He stopped along the way to do his business, and....

A PINE BRANCH CAME OUT OF HIS BUTT.

The end.


Wasn't that a heart-warming story? You're welcome.