Tag: Fun

How I Got Out Of Mowing The Lawn

So yesterday I’m sitting down in the basement watching a MASH marathon. Something I don’t get to do too often since the show went off the air thirty years ago and is now on television in syndication only rarely.

And before you go and say anything about why I don’t just go and get the complete collection on DVD or streaming it someplace let me spare you the trouble.

Having every episode on some disk sitting around to play whenever I want is NOTHING compared to the euphoria you get when flipping through the channels and finding your favorite show on. Because when it comes my faves, I still get giddy when I turn on the television and there it is. Oh, and I also like the randomness of not knowing which episode it is too. Don’t judge.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes…. So there I was watching Hawkeye and BJ putting shaving cream on Frank Burn’s face for about the five billionth time when in walks my miffed significant other.  I know she can see the happiness in my eyes watching my boys from the four-oh-double-seven.  She is fully aware of my love for the show. I’m eating nachos and enjoying the good life of reliving the Korean War through the eyes of guys named Trapper, Radar and Klinger.  I am in my happy place. She none the less isn’t so amused.

Apparently, there is a jungle growing out in the yard. A runaway lawn has gotten too out of control and must be addressed. For me, such things do not take precedence over watching Klinger dressing like a woman and trying to eat a Jeep to get out of the army.

She had been wanting me to cut it for the longest time. I said I was going to, but that was before I stumbled upon MASH.  She didn’t say a word though. Just stood there. Staring at me.

So after the stare down has gotten to be too much I did something I rarely do. Please forgive me Colonel Potter….

I put the TV on mute.

That’s right, turned off the sound to one of my all time favorite television shows. There was another ten or fifteen second  moment of silence. The tension in the air was so strong you could cut it with a knife.  Then finally, she spoke.

“You know, you are wasting your life away watching a show that you’ve seen a thousand times already…”

Again, more silence.

I slowly took another bite out of my nacho. The beef and cheesy combination only reminded me that I needed to get back to Korea as soon as possible. So after washing it down with some cold beer,  I cleared my throat and responded with the following:

Honey? I did some research. The average person spends approximately 8-10 minutes every day going to the bathroom (both number one and number two). Mind you, the time could increase depending upon many factors such as drunken nights or eating bad Chinese but let’s just use “ten” as a baseline. This includes the act itself and assuming you use proper hygiene methods afterwards. That equates out to more or less an hour a week.

I multiplied that by 52 and got 52 hours for a year. Follow me? Then I multiplied that again by 75 for the years of an average life span. (I didn’t tell her, but I would have subtracted some time for those early years where we all have incontinence issues and Mom and Dad had to take care of hygiene. But I didn’t want to make this issue too complicated).

Finally, I divided this number by 24 for hours in a day.

Do you know what I discovered Sweetheart? The average person spends almost a full half-year of their entire life either taking a leak or dropping a deuce. Yep, each one of us will spend 6 months of our lives locked in the toilet. Amazing isn’t it? What a waste of time (pun intended).

Now I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather spend that time watching MASH then sitting on the pot. Wouldn’t you agree?


She shook her head and walked away. I raised my bottle of beer and gave myself a toast. Looks like the grass will have to wait. At least until MASH is over.

Oooh…King Kong Vs. Godzilla is coming on next…sorry Honey!

Dear Jim Letter

It was a rainy Saturday morning and very apropos if you ask me. I awoke very early to the sound of thunder and could sleep no longer.

As I stumbled down the stairs listening to the rain pound on the rooftop the grumpiness I once had for the Sandman’s lack of personal attention slowly began to subside.

You see, the routine I have every Saturday morning is simple and never changes. I like to sit on my nice comfy couch, drink coffee and read the morning newspaper. My wife and daughter would still be asleep and there’d be no television or phone calls. Just peace and quiet. Caffeine and news print. This was definitely “ME” time.

And the idea that I was awake even earlier than usual only reinforced my joy. I knew that now I’d have even more quiet time alone then usual. So all I could think about was getting the old Keurig fired up, grabbing the newspaper and curling up on the couch. The fact that I could also listen to an early summer rainstorm in the background was a bonus.

The kitchen seemed darker than usual this morning. Natural light had just begun to fill the room and I could see the rain pounding the outside window above the sink. The sound of the refrigerator turning itself on was comforting. But that’s when I noticed something was missing from the nearby family room.

The big comfy couch.

The one that I spend my Saturday mornings reading newspapers and drinking coffee upon was gone. Surprisingly, all of the end tables and lamps were still in their places. Even my beloved 50″ flat screen television that was my portal to Hollywood and grid iron games was still mounted on the wall untouched. Only the couch was gone.

My heart sank as I thought immediately that my home had been robbed overnight. I thought of all the things that would be missing and all of the horrible things that might have been done to my family while we slept.

I reached for the phone to dial the police but noticed a simple white letter lying on the kitchen table. The hand writing on it was one that I didn’t recognize. Too neat to be my daughter and not in the style of my wife.

Something told me to pick it up and read it. The paper was white and crisp and the ink on the page barely dry. I’ll read it to you now verbatim:

Dearest Jim,

I know this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be done. Writing like this. But it’s the only option I have left. I’ve put up with a lot these past few years and I am left with nothing but tears.

Being with you has been wonderful at times. You’ve taught me so much and for that I will always be grateful.

But the time has come to say goodbye. We’re simply not meant to be together.

I’ll always cherish the way you’d leave crumbs from your sandwiches and popcorn lying in my cushions. The long naps we’d take together. The laughs we’d share when you’d “accidentally” break wind on me. But most of all, I’ll remember our Saturdays together.

Sadly though, you have your ways and I have mine. Nothing in the middle seems to make sense.

I do still love you. But the pain that lies beneath the happiness has become more than I can take. We are too good to settle for something that will just never be.

I wish you everything good life has to offer and a happiness that will endure.



A tear came to my eye and there was a feeling of emptiness in my heart. I won’t sugar coat it.  I’m the first to admit that I’m not perfect. And I’ve had plenty of relationships end badly before. I can’t remember if I’ve ever received a “Dear Jim” letter before but there is one thing I do know. I’ve never been dumped by a couch. Ever.

As the Keurig finished brewing I took in a deep breath and blew it out. Rain continued to pound on the roof and for a moment I felt like dashing out and finding my beloved. In the end though I realized I had to just let it go and move on.

I dragged a chair from the kitchen table to where the couch used to be and sat down. The coffee didn’t taste as good as it normally does. I only hope this isn’t a sign of the way Saturday mornings were now going to be.