Excuse me, but is that a chicken on the kitchen floor?

 

This afternoon at our house.

 

: : :

 

When I walked in the door from work today, I noticed that there was a roasting chicken lying on the kitchen floor. It was partially frozen, wrapped in a ziploc bag and lying on a kitchen towel next to the box fan. I found my husband and asked why there was a chicken on the kitchen floor and he told me that he was using it to help cool the breakfast nook.

 

What?

 

He said that he was thawing it to grill for dinner and thought he might as well put it to use to help to cool the room. So he put it behind the fan so it could draw the cold from it. “Why waste the coldness”,  he said, “right”?

 

George and I looked at each other, and I swear the dog rolled his eyes just as I did as I walked away.

 

: : :

 

My husband does not want to be bothered to go to the barber shop and is constantly trying to get me to cut his hair. I’ve told him time and time again that I am not even remotely qualified to cut hair. I’ve proven this on a number of occasions, yet he still asks if I will cut his hair.

 

When I came home from work today I noticed that he’d given himself a hair cut. I told him, “Wow – you do a pretty good job cutting your own hair. It looks good!”

 

And then he turned around and I said “uh-oh”.

 

He really should not be cutting his own hair.

 

: : :

 

Half an hour ago, I went into the kitchen to get a glass of raspberry iced tea. My husband was at his computer in the breakfast nook, but looking out the window. When he noticed me, he put his finger to his lips for me to be quiet, then pointed to his head, and then outside. “Head,” I said. He shook his head to say no. “Hair?” I asked. He shook his head yes. Then he points outside.

 

Oh, I figured. It’s a game. “Your hair is on the picnic table?” I asked. No. No. No, he indicated, shaking his head. He points again to his hair and then to somewhere out the window. I’m wondering if he’s put his hair outside or something . . . I mean I’d already found a chicken on the floor, maybe he’s done something interesting with all of the hair he’d cut. “Um, your hair is on the bird feeder?” I asked.

 

He points again to his hair and then out the window. I don’t understand why people think that if they keep giving the same clues, someone will finally get it. When I shook my head to say no, he finally said out loud, “There’s a hairy woodpecker out there on the feeder. Hairy woodpecker. You are terrible at this game.”

 

I laughed because I was thinking exactly the same thing, only the other way around.

 

: : :

 

George wants to thank you for all the sweet comments yesterday and I had to tell him firmly that he cannot have his own blog. I can barely keep up with this one!”

 

 

And because you know I can’t have a post without a single photo ~ This was found while antique shopping with Lili in Ellsworth, Maine. I almost bought it for my husband but it was terribly overpriced. Would have been fun, though.

 

:::

 

And speaking of fun, I hope it doesn’t sound as if I’m making fun of my husband because the last thing I would want to do would be to hurt his feelings. In public, no less. It’s just that I often find everyday life with him to be interesting, amusing, and a host of other emotions that I won’t even go into here. I just think these little quirks of his are sweet, is all.

 

And I would miss them very much if he was gone.

 

Thanks so much for visiting me today here in Blogland. It’s always good to have you stop by. See you tomorrow, folks ~