And That’s When the Fight Started

A friend of mine sent me these lol funny (at least to guys) vignettes of turbulent interaction between husbands, wives, and in the first case, a mother-in-law. An alternate title might be, “How to Create a Tornado in Your House.” Here they are:

One year, I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift. The next year,  I didn’t buy her a gift. When she asked me why, I replied, “You still haven’t used the gift I bought you last year!”

And that’s how the fight started . . .

*   *   *

My wife and I were watching “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” while we were in bed. I turned to her and said, “Do you want to have sex?”

“No.”

“Is that your final answer?”

She didn’t even look at me this time. “Yes.”

“Then I’d like to phone a friend.”

And that’s when the fight started . . .

*   *   *

I took my wife to a restaurant. The waiter, for some reason, took my order first. “I’ll have the rump steak, rare, please.”

He said, “Aren’t you worried about the mad cow?”

“Nah, she can order for herself.”

And that’s when the fight started . . .

*   *   *

My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table. I asked her, “Do you know him?

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s my old boyfriend. I heard that he took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and he hasn’t been sober since.”

“My God!” I said, “Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?”

And then the fight started . . .

*   *   *

When our lawn mower broke and wouldn’t run, my wife kept hinting to me that I should get it fixed. But somehow I always had something else to take care of first. Essential stuff, like the shed, the boat, or making beer. Then one day she finally thought of a clever way to make her point.

I arrived home and found her seated in the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. I watched silently for a short time, then went into the house, came out again and handed her a toothbrush. “When you finish there, you might as well sweep the driveway.”

The doctors say I will walk again, but I’ll always have a limp.

*   *   *

My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels. “What’s on TV?”

“Dust.”

And then the fight started . . .

*   *   *

Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked the boat up to the van and backed out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the
 weather would be bad all day.

I went back into the house, undressed and slipped into bed. Cuddled up to my wife’s back, now with a different anticipation, I whispered, “The weather out there is terrible.”

My loving wife of five years replied, “Can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?”

And that’s how the fight started . . .

*   *   *

My wife was hinting about her gift for our upcoming anniversary. “I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds.”

I bought her a bathroom scale.

And then the fight started . . .

*   *   *

After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for benefits. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver’s license to verify my age.

I looked in my pockets, realized I had left my wallet at home, and told the woman that I would have to go home and come back later.

“No need,” she said. “Unbutton your shirt.”

So I did that, revealing my chest covered in curly silver hair.

She nodded, said, “That’s proof enough for me,” and processed my Social Security application.

When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about the experience.

“You should have dropped your pants,” she said. “You might have gotten disability, too.”

And then the fight started . . .

*   *   *

Standing nude looking in the bedroom mirror, my wife was obviously not happy with what she saw. “I feel horrible. I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a compliment.”

I obliged with, “Your eyesight’s damn near perfect.”

And then the fight started . . .

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