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On Death & Survival

July 16, 2008


So, my wife gave me permission to die last night.

Yeah, there’s a f*cked up conversation to have just before bedtime, right?

See, I am very much a nurturer. I am in my element when I have someone to take care of. Which works out, because my lady love is at her best when someone is doting on her. Well, she’s actually at her best when everyone is doting on her, but you get the picture.

That old saw about all the good ones are either married or gay? Not gay. But otherwise, I’m that guy. I cook dinner, I fetch drinks, I run out to the store at the drop of a hat. I even do the grocery shopping. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love doing these things for her. It is my nature to want to do them.

But sometimes I’ll come home, having just done the grocery shopping the day before, and find my wife standing in the middle of the kitchen . . . fridge, freezer, and every cabinet in the pantry standing wide open . . . looking for food.

And when I say looking, I mean looking and not finding any.

On the rare occasion that I have to work and didn’t have time to get dinner together I invariably get a call asking me what she can fix. A call that usually manages to get around to whether or not we have enough money in the account that she can just take the kids to a restaurant instead of having to cook.

So, it’s pretty much inevitable that I tease my wife about her dubious survival skills.

Hey, I don’t expect to be able to drop her butterball naked in the middle of a forest somewhere and have her whip up roast boar and truffles. But I firmly believe one should be able to forage for food in a packed pantry or a full refrigerator/freezer with minimal effort.

In any case, last night she assured me that if I wanted to die she would be okay.

Yup, that’s pretty much how it came out. No segue, no transitional phrases. I couldn’t tell you what we were talking about before that. That was pretty much thrust from my mind with the discovery that the woman I love is okay with me kicking the bucket – that whenever I’m ready to go she’s ready to have me gone.

By this time, she’s babbling on about grocery shopping, and I just have to stop her.

So, wait a minute. Did you just give me permission to drop dead?

Loving mate that she is she started rolling about on the bed laughing her pretty naked @ss off, and when she could finally breathe again did her best to assure me that she only meant that if the unthinkable happened and I were to park myself under a Buick and never come home that she would be capable of finding food in the house since she would be doing all the grocery shopping.

I would have been more convinced if at any time during this conversation

she had been able to stop laughing.

13 Comments leave one →
  1. Mama Kelly permalink
    July 16, 2008 05:56

    Sounds like the kind of conversations GamerDude and I have when we are up to late and one of us is sleep deprived.

    Though for us the roles are a bit more traditional in that Im the one that does the shopping and cooking (he does the grilling) and Im the one who is reassured that if/when I die that he’ll manage.


  2. July 16, 2008 06:12

    Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. If T goes before me, I’m going to be a worthless husk of a man.

  3. July 16, 2008 09:09

    Sound like T…LOL!! I miss having her around.

    My husband lets me do all the shopping and will not eat anything unless I cook it or make it for him and if I ask him to make something like macaroni and cheese for the kids, he acts like the world is coming to an end…but will do about anything else I ask him to do without hesitation. We’ve never really talked about how we will manage when the other passes…

  4. familygathers permalink
    July 16, 2008 09:36

    Your blog is too funny. I really enjoyed your blog. Keep up the good work. You should be a comedienne. ( – :

  5. July 16, 2008 10:09

    You know I don’t want you dead dear…

    I was just saying that I will be OK and able to care for myself if something happened to you.

    I didn’t want you to worry about that.

  6. July 16, 2008 10:18

    And are you saying I am helpless?

  7. July 16, 2008 13:18

    @ familygathers –

    erm – EEP! – I’d need some surgery of the Swiss variety to qualify as a “comedienne” . . . glad you like though. Keep on reading.

  8. July 16, 2008 13:19

    :mrgreen: – Helpless? Never. Just in need of constant supervision.

  9. July 16, 2008 15:13

    Too cute.

    I’ve admonished the love-of-my-life that she’s not PERMITTED to kick the bucket before me. I’ve already been widowed once, and I’m just not going there. As an incentive I’ve put a $166,000 price on my head (life insurance) and walk the little woman 5 miles a day (to keep her healthy.) So far so good.

    XO, Katie

  10. July 16, 2008 17:58


    Nice blog too. Welcome to the fray.

  11. July 16, 2008 19:49

    Welcome back~

  12. July 19, 2008 16:13

    This was hilarious! and sweet. It’s kind of cool to only sort of know Tall T and then get a whole ‘nother perspective. My hub is great like that to me, too. Cooks and feeds me well. I worry about him if I were to go first (I handle the money.)

  13. July 19, 2008 20:25

    Yeah, T used to handle the money, too, but she’s got me in soopertraining boot camp now and I’m the one juggling the bills (I guess she figured if I can juggle c@s a few slips of paper asking for cash should be a walk in the cake)

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