So, I'm all cozy with a hot tea reading a gruesome, murder mystery by an author bud of mine, when my husband returns home from having the oil changed in the car.

Nothing strange about that.  Today he's getting new tires before the football game.  Those are guy things.  What struck me about his arrival was just as I was getting into the grisley murder details, hubby walks through the front door holding a pitchfork like he's that Green Acres guy.

I'm not saying the murder weapon in the book was a pitchfork, but the sight of my lovely man brandishing a pitchfork gave me pause.  Last year when we married, he was unpacking some kitchen utensils he'd brought with him, and when I went into the kitchen, he was waving a meat cleaver around like the guy in the infomercial.  "What the heck are you doing with that thing?" I asked warily.  "We've only been married two weeks and you want to get rid of me already?"

Hubby laughed and stowed the knife in a drawer.  "You're a riot, Alice," he said with his best Jackie Gleason impersonation.

Then, a few months back, he came home with a huge chain saw.  "What is it with you and these dangerous items you keep bringing home?" I asked. 


"Well, you said the hedges out back need trimming," he replied.  "How else do you expect me to cut them down?"  "Oops," I said.  "That's right, I did."

The pitchfork, however, was a different kind of animal.  When was the last time someone blew in the front door holding a pitchfork aloft, especially when you're deep into a murder scene and don't live on a farm? 

I jumped off the couch and put some distance between us.  "Okay, now you're taking this a bit too far," I shouted.  "What the hell are you doing, bringing a pitchfork in the house?  You're beginning to scare me."

"We just spent a hundred dollars on grass seed and weed control for the lawn," he reminded me, after he put the pitchfork in the garage.  "How else am I supposed to thrash the soil so the seed germinates, if I don't use a pitchfork?"

I laughed.  "I read too many books.  These are just guy toys, right?"

Hubby turned and shot me a frown.  "You're a riot, Alice," he muttered (without the Jackie Gleason voice) and went outside to mow the lawn. 
 
 


Poor guy--he does all the work and most of the cooking...what a husband! 
 
  :)