Things That Go Bump in the Night

Last night my wife, Nancy, and I were alone in the house. We were just falling asleep when we were startled by a thunderous thump and a loud, drawn-out dragging sound coming from somewhere within our house. We both sat up in bed and Nancy whispered, “What was that?” Now how am I supposed to know what’s going on in the rest of the house? I’m not clairvoyant, I’m scared. I’m the only person I know who’s childhood hero was the Cowardly Lion from ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ The problem is, if I tell her the truth she’ll want me to investigate. Apparently, during our wedding vows I agreed to take out the trash and investigate psychotic murderers crawling around our house in the middle of the night. I decide not to panic her. “It was just the wind,” I assure her, my voice quivering with fear. “Oh, okay,” she says and believes me! “Thank goodness you’re here or I’d be frightened to death.” Then she rolls over, closes her eyes and immediately falls back to sleep. How in the world can she fall back to sleep? Does she really believe I’d be capable of defending her from the evil fiend that could make a noise like that? She falls back to sleep and I have to lie there waiting for some monster to break down the bedroom door. Naturally I suddenly have to go to the bathroom. Bad, but not nearly bad enough for me to climb out from under the covers. It’s not that I’m really afraid, I know those things only happen in the movies and the Grim Reaper is not wandering around my living room looking for his next victim. The only reason I don’t investigate the noise is because I know it really was just the wind. And I don’t have to go to the bathroom that badly, it can wait until morning. Everything always seems better in the daylight. Besides, Nancy always gets up before I do.

On the Road Again

My wife and I need to exercise more. Every time we leave the house we notice vultures circling overhead in anticipation and now our washing machine is doing that nasty thing where it shrinks our clothes. So, in a moment of pure inspiration and absolutely no intelligent thought whatsoever, we decide to take up mountain biking. We could remember biking as kids and there was nothing to it. We set out to purchase our bikes with the fond memory of a cool breeze gently blowing in our faces. One of the first things we notice is that the seats are too small. Apparently they are now making the seats smaller than in our youth. The clerk smiles knowingly and smugly suggests that for the more mature biking enthusiasts they can attach foam padding. There is, of course, an extra charge. My wife chooses the extra padding and is currently riding around on what looks like a bucket seat from a 1967 Buick. I, on the other hand, have decided to save the additional expense and go without the padding. My proctologist has assured me that the tingling in my left buttock should eventually fade away. Early Saturday morning we prepare for our first cycling adventure. We decide to leave early to insure we'll be back before dark. My wife is to travel in front and carry a fanny pack with suntan lotion, a first aid kit and our medical insurance cards. Her job is to set the pace. My job is to follow behind and criticize. I'll be carrying a backpack filled with: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (for subsistence), energy bars (for endurance), 2 jugs of Gatorade (to replenish our bodily fluids), rain gear (in case of inclement weather), a map and compass (in case we get lost), a flashlight (in case we're lost at night), and signal flares (to assist the search party). We go over the route one final time. I spread the map out on the kitchen table, pointer in hand. "This is the route we'll be taking, so pay close attention. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask." I carefully review the emergency procedures. "If separated, we will rendezvous either here, at check-point Charlie, or here, at check-point Romeo." "We've been over this four times already," my wife complains, obviously taking the whole adventure much too lightly and showing no respect for my superior training and experience. After all, I was the one who spent nearly two full years in the Cub Scouts, not her. Fortunately, I understand the seriousness of the task ahead and have taken the necessary precautions. We're finally ready to put our weeks of training and preparations to use. It's time to venture forth and boldly go where no sane middle-aged man or woman has gone before -- it's time to leave our driveway. I brief the kids. "Now remember, while we're gone I want one of you to remain by the phone at all times in case we need to call for assistance." "But you're only going around the block," the kids complain. "The house will be in sight the entire time." Ah, the innocence of youth. They oversimplify everything.