Do you think we men don’t give women enough thought for keeping us on the right track in life? Yeah, I know. There goes Clarke crawling up on his soapbox. To say what? That we don’t give wives credit for keeping our heads above water.
This will annoy Rosanne Louise Wallace who, she’ll tell you, doesn’t need praise. Believe me, she deserves it. God knows how many women are saddled with men who, like me, write for a living.
There’s something we writers take for granted when working at home. And planted themselves there ’round the clock.
Women enjoy having the house to themselves. With a mate who’s there morning, noon and night. It puts a cramp on who like those moments being on their own. Getting things done that they haven’t had a chance to tackle. Cozy up with a book without a husband shouting from the office down the hall, “how do you spell acommodate? Two ‘c’s or one? Two ‘m’s or one?”
If I can’t ‘see’ a word, I can’t spell it. Yet I can pick out others’ lousy spelling a mile off without batting an eye.
How many really pitch in around the house? A number of us do. Roe cooks, and I clean up. If she’s late coming home from work, I’ll have a meal ready. Mac ‘n cheese. My specialty.
Author’s comment: There are some things that are sacrosanct. (“Hey Roe, how d’you spell sacrosanct?) We watch The Young And Restless,the moment she comes home. It’s de rigueur. (how do you spell…?) We catch it live, though we automatically record each episode, should we miss it.
It took me a while to get hooked on it. Why is Victor Newman such a sonofabitch? How come his son Adam shows up unexpected? After being killed when his house is blown all to hell? As for Phyllis, she’s turned into a real bitch. Just like her daughter, Summer, a spitting image of her mom. I like Paul, Genoa City’s head detective. He does his damnedest to keep everything from falling apart. He can’t; we know that. It’s a soap opera, after all.