Research shows that eating cheese every day is an effective way to fight against depression. However, eating too much cheese may cause you to become euphoric, with an uncontrollable impulse to take off all your clothes and shave your head.
Not to brag, but I consider myself an expert in the field of mental health. That’s because I’ve spent two decades attempting (usually in vain) to decipher the complex inner workings of the minds of children – specifically mine. Over their first 18 years of life, I conducted in-depth field research at soccer games, birthday parties, and trips to the mall, in an effort to unlock the mysteries of adolescent behavior. I closely studied my daughters’ elaborate machinations to slowly, carefully drive their father insane. My wife tells me their schemes were wildly successful.
Thanks to my kids, I’ve gained a wealth of insights into what can trigger negative emotions in young people – and their parents. From anger to anxiety to depression to rage to fear to – did I mention anger and depression? I’ve determined that everyone at one time or another struggles with depression, anxiety, or other mental wellness challenge.
If that describes you, take a step back from the ledge. I’m here to help. People battling chronic depression or anxiety typically try a variety of coping strategies. Some turn to psychotherapy. But let’s face it. That can be a long, expensive journey, often taking months or even years to show meaningful results. Others turn to prescription medications. But these often come with serious side effects and worse, the risk of addiction. Still others try to work through their dark feelings by embarking on an arduous, vigorous exercise program like running or swimming. Sadly, this approach comes with one obvious downside, by which I mean having to endure an arduous, vigorous exercise program like running or swimming.
As a nationally admired mental health expert (if you don’t ask my wife), trust me when I tell you that therapy, drugs, and exercise are a waste of time if you wish to overcome your emotional demons. I’ve discovered a much simpler way to find happiness – one that doesn’t require months of working through with a counselor your childhood trauma caused by the time you accidentally killed your pet hamster Bubbles when your tricycle backed over him. No, my solution requires none of that and no sit-ups or treadmill workouts either. My solution? Two words: EAT CHEESE.
Harvard scientists have discovered that the human brain reacts to cheese by releasing a feeling of euphoria. A chemical compound found in dairy called casein, when consumed, triggers the feeling that you’ve been rewarded, boosting your happiness hormone levels.
Mice are very smart. They’ve known for ages that cheese makes them much happier – with the notable exception of when it comes attached to a mousetrap.
Further research has found that the country whose citizens consume the greatest quantity of cheese per year is France. C’est vrai, mon ami! The typical French citizen consumes on average 55 pounds of fromage a year – more than any other country – even more than is consumed by the residents of Gorgonzola, Italy or Cheddar, Great Britain combined. (Yes, both are actual places.)
Despite all their cheese consumption Рor maybe because of it Рthe current life expectancy of a French person is 82 years Рroughly a decade longer than the global average. So, if you want to live a long, healthy life, my recommendation is to start now, with a healthy serving of French Onion soup Рwith an extra helping of Gruy̬re cheese.
And check this out. Cheese even has the added bonus that it strengthens your teeth and bones, in part thanks to all that calcium. It also helps you get a better night’s sleep. And we all know how grouchy you get when you haven’t had a good night’s sleep. Now, just stuff a few slices of Muenster in your pie hole before bedtime and you’ll sleep like a bear. Of course, this same article that proclaimed the many benefits of cheese also went on to list five health benefits of drinking gin each day. So, perhaps take the above advice with a grain of salt – or better yet, with a slice of Provolone.
Another great thing about eating cheese to ward off depression is that it comes in so many different varieties. You can enjoy it with crackers, with a French baguette, on top of a burger, in a quesadilla, or, for the more adventurous palate, by downing a bottle of blue cheese-flavored soda. Hard to believe that’s a thing, I know.
While generally it’s recommended that you eat unprocessed cheese for maximum mental health improvement, in a pinch, if you’ve run out of cheese in your fridge, go ahead and scarf down that family size bag of Cheetos. It pairs nicely with a liter of Mountain Dew Code Red.
If you find yourself packing on a few unwanted pounds, don’t cut back on your cheese consumption. Eat more. That’s because cheese, like turkey, is a great source of tryptophan. After a few slices of cheddar, you’ll be out like a light. And you won’t be fretting over your embarrassing weight gain – until you wake up tomorrow morning and look in the mirror.
Sadly, some people don’t quite understand how cheese works. It is most effectively applied by ingesting it into your mouth. These men have not yet figured out that cheese worn atop one’s head will never make them happy – especially now that Aaron Rodgers has been traded to the Jets.
Of course, as with any rigorous mental health regimen, there are a few minor potential risks from a diet consisting primarily of mac and cheese and chili cheese dogs – although at the moment none of those risks comes to mind. Oh right, ingesting too much cheese can lead to dangerously high cholesterol levels and high blood pressure, increasing one’s risk of cardiovascular disease and possible heart attack. Like I said, minor risks.
Reading about the health risks associated with eating too much cheese has made me terribly depressed and more than a little anxious. I’m noticing that my heart is starting to race from getting all stressed out. But wait. It occurs to me that the quickest way to overcome my sudden anxious, depressed mood and feel happier is to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich (using whole-wheat bread, the healthy choice).
Easy Cheesy! That was yummy. I feel much happier now!
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
[Author’s note: The following is a letter I sent to DOLLAR RENT A CAR based on an actual recent car rental experience. – TEJ ]
This is me at the airport’s DOLLAR counter at midnight, immediately after they closed the counter, having just been informed they would not rent me a car, even though I had a reservation. Thank you, DOLLAR, for giving me my topic for this week’s column.
Dear DOLLAR RENT A CAR,
I wanted to tell you about my unforgettable experience that took place when I made the admittedly foolhardy decision to rent a car from DOLLAR RENT A CAR. I had just flown into Albany, NY Airport with plans to see my family and attend my high school’s 50th class reunion, so I needed a car.
Two months before my trip, I made an egregious mistake. I placed a reservation online with DOLLAR RENT A CAR. I selected an economy vehicle. I hope you don’t feel I was being too cheap by not going for your luxury SUV option instead. Anyhoo, my flight into Albany arrived three hours late. This was totally my fault, of course. I had made the reckless decision to try to save a few bucks by flying Southwest Airlines. I’ll never make that mistake again. But I digress.
I arrived at your airport rental car counter at 11:30pm – thirty minutes before it closed for the night. The employee at the counter named Tony immediately found my reservation in your system. I only had to wait another 22 minutes for Tony to casually inform me, “Looks like I can’t give you a car. You’re on our DNR LIST.” Perplexed, I asked Tony if I had heard him correctly: “Did you say, I’m on a DNR LIST? What’s that?”
Tony explained in a voice some might mistake as sounding gruff and irritated, but I’m sure was intended to exude warmth and empathy, that it stood for “Do Not Rent.” Like an airline No Fly List but for rental cars. Turns out I had been officially banned from travel with Dollar Rent A Car. I asked, “Can you tell me WHY I am on Dollar’s RENTAL BLACK LIST?”
“That’s DO NOT RENT LIST,” Tony snapped in what probably was a lot cheerier a voice than it sounded. “How the Hell would I know why? Maybe you have a criminal conviction or failed to pay some outstanding speeding tickets.”
“No, Tony, neither of those apply to me,” I calmly explained.
“Well, you must’a did something wrong, fella,” Tony barked, again in the kindest, affirming voice. Tony wrote down a phone number: “Call our DNR department during business hours tomorrow and maybe they can explain why. We’re now officially closed for the night. I gotta go.”
I want to thank you, DOLLAR RENT A CAR, for not telling me I was on your “DNR” list until 11:52 pm just as all the airport rental counters were closing for the night. I would hate to have received this helpful information, say, two months ago when I first placed my reservation, while I still had time to make alternate rental car arrangements. It would have totally deprived me of the memorable opportunity to spend quality time with your superstar employee Tony.
So there I was at midnight, stuck at the airport, no car, and all the rental car counters closed for the night. You may find the next part hilarious. I know I sure will – ten years from now. I was supposed to drive an hour north of Albany to meet a close friend. But thanks to your DNR policy, I had no choice but to shell out money for a cab and stay at a nearby hotel instead.
I called the nearest Courtyard by Marriott,. I spoke to a lovely person named Donna. I explained to Donna that I was in a bit of a jam and desperately needed a place for one night. To my great elation, Donna told me, “Mr. Jones, you’re in luck. We have one room left.”
Within minutes, I was in an Uber heading for the hotel. When I lugged my luggage into the hotel lobby, Donna met me with a sheepish expression on her face. Uh oh. She apologized that she’d made a mistake. It turns out there were no rooms available after all. Here’s my question: Did DOLLAR RENT A CAR have someone call the hotel to inform them to place me on the DO NOT RENT A HOTEL ROOM list, too?
Thanks to DOLLAR’s DO NOT RENT policy, I had to look for a hotel room. I felt a lot like Joseph and Mary being turned away by every inn. At least they had a means of transportation to get from inn to inn, which is more than I could say.
Now, you might be curious to know WHY I was put on your firm’s DO NOT RENT list. I admire your inquisitiveness. I called the following morning and a customer service person named Breanna put me on a brief five-minute hold. And then another ten-minute hold. And after what barely felt like another 15 minutes, she accidentally disconnected my call.
I called in again and in less than 20 minutes I reached Christina – or maybe it was Kristina. I’m sorry I failed to ask how she spelled her name. She said I had been placed on your elite “WE HATE YOU” list because apparently, I had the same last name as someone else who had failed to pay their bill.
An easy-to-understand mistake, seeing as how we were probably the only two people with the last name JONES in your entire 100,000-person customer database. I’m pleased to report that Kristina wasted no time in apologizing to me, by which I mean she didn’t bother to apologize. But that’s okay. I’m sure she was having a bad day – probably from having to deal with hundreds of other people calling in to complain about being put on your DNR list by mistake.
I asked Kristina if she could reverse the $450 charge I paid when I originally reserved a vehicle, since your company refused to rent me the car. She explained that she could not help me, as she worked for the DNR department. I needed to call the customer severance, I mean customer service department.
I finally reached a representative named Roy, who I have to say possessed almost as polished social skills as Tony from the rental counter. Roy explained that he couldn’t issue a refund because I needed to have cancelled my reservation at least 24 hours before the rental date, and I had failed to do so.
I explained in vain that I did not actually cancel my reservation. Dollar did. Never quite understanding my point, Roy finally explained that I’d have to call their billing department to submit a refund request. It’s been two weeks, and I’m still waiting for a call back.
DOLLAR RENT A CAR, you have given me a new appreciation of just how rare outstanding customer service is, at least. anywhere within the ranks of your organization.
I hope you won’t mind my sharing my memorable experience with a few thousand of my closest Facebook friends, not to mention on LinkedIn, Twitter, and Instagram. DOLLAR RENT A CAR, you guys made me feel like a hundred bucks – too bad those hundred bucks were all counterfeit.
Sincerely,
Tim Jones, former customer
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
This is perhaps the most iconic image ever taken of Bigfoot, from 1967. Is this really Bigfoot? If so, where was he going in such a hurry? Experts believe it was probably a male because it refused to ask for directions.
Now that I’m officially retired, I am filling my days with all sorts of leisure activities, like travel, playing racquetball, going to lunch with old friends, and binge-watching Season Three of Succession.
As a result of all the fun things we’ve been doing, I’ve noticed lately that our retirement savings are not quite where we’d like them to be. My wife had the craziest suggestion that perhaps her husband should return to work part-time. Isn’t she hilarious? (Although, if you ask me, I ‘d make a fabulous Walmart greeter.)
I did some rough calculations and determined that the statistical probability of my opting to return to work at this stage of my life is slightly lower than my chances of being selected in the first round of the next NFL Draft. So, how can I build up our nest egg again and have fun at the same time?
I think I’ve found the solution: Searching for Bigfoot. Hear me out. I read the other day that the state legislature of Oklahoma is offering a $3 million bounty for anyone who captures Bigfoot alive. If I can claim that prize, this reward would more than cover the cost of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream (my favorite) for the next twenty years – with money left over to buy the latest PlayStation 5. It just so happens I live in northwestern Washington state, pretty much Ground Zero for Bigfoot sightings over the past 50 years.
I almost feel sorry for all those poor misguided Oklahomans who have been searching all over the Sooner State for Bigfoot. They won’t find him. He’s not there. There hasn’t been a credible Bigfoot sighting in Oklahoma in over four months. I’m pretty sure he’s right here in Washington state, picking berries and chasing rabbits in some forest habitat – either that or dumpster diving for stale bananas behind a 7-Eleven along the Cascade Highway. Bigfoots aren’t exactly known for having haute cuisine tastes.
People have been looking for Bigfoot – or as we locals here in the Pacific Northwest prefer to call him, Sasquatch – since the 1800s. That’s when settlers in the northwestern United States began reporting sightings of a large, upright, apelike, hairy creature, sometimes estimated to be over eight feet tall, with a powerfully built frame. In other words, he probably looks eerily like my late Uncle Ralph – if you added three feet to Uncle Ralph’s height and made him slightly more attractive – and smarter.
Searching for Bigfoot will get me off the couch and out of the house, so I figure my wife will be all for my idea. Plus, I can set my own schedule. I won’t have to get up before 10am, which is ideal because from what I hear, Bigfoot’s not an early morning riser either.
When I start my search for Bigfoot, I think I’ll begin right here, at this Bigfoot Crossing sign. I think I’ll put out a trail of Reese’s Pieces to lure him to me, just like in ET – unless you think he’s more of an M&M’s fan.
Where I live is roughly halfway between Washington state’s two large mountain ranges, the Cascades and the Olympics, where most Bigfoot sightings have been reported. However, just last week an elderly woman claimed to have spotted Bigfoot hiding behind an ’87 Chevy Impala in a Walmart parking lot not far from my house. But it was later determined to be just an overweight stark naked extremely hairy old guy wearing only a MAGA hat and carrying a 12-pack of Miller Lite.
In preparing for this ambitious project, I’ve been doing some preliminary research on the equipment required. It turns out, there’s not much I’ll need to stock up on. All I’ll need initially is a powerful flashlight, a few boxes of batteries, maybe some waterproof hiking boots, and about 5,000 bear traps, strategically placed in areas Bigfoots like to explore, such as dense forests, caves, and drive-thru espresso stands.
I went to a gun store to purchase a rifle and a case of tranquilizer darts. I figured I might need them in case I spotted a Bigfoot charging at me. I’ve seen videos where these darts will take down a grizzly bear. I’m not the most accurate shot. But I figure, if I miss and accidentally take out a deer hunter, well, at least I’d have done my small part to reduce the world’s deer hunter population.
I will also need to buy a truckload of Red Vines, as I read somewhere that Bigfoots love Red Vines. I hope that’s accurate. I’d hate to lay down a couple grand on 400 boxes of Red Vines only to find out that the big guy is more of a Twizzlers afficionado. That would be embarrassing.
I have so many questions:
How many Bigfoots are out there?
What do they like to eat?
Could they be taught to use cutlery?
Do they make good pets?
Could they be socialized enough to play linebacker for my Seattle Seahawks? (They’re in dire need of one.)
Is the plural of Bigfoot Bigfeet?
As a soon-to-be nationally recognized expert on how to capture the elusive Bigfoot, please take my advice. If you spot him, don’t invite him to take a group family photo. From what I’ve learned, Bigfoot will most likely attempt to sniff your child’s hair or – worse yet – try to mug for the camera.
I’m excited to get started. In fact, just last night, I thought I might have spotted Bigfoot in my backyard. Alas, it turned out to be our giant, way-too-big tuxedo kitty named Buddy, who had snuck out the back door again. Good thing my wife told me in the nick of time, as from my vantage point, I had a clear shot. Guess I should think twice about hunting for Bigfoot without my glasses.
I realize it’s a long shot that I’ll win Oklahoma’s $3 million grand prize. But if I bag Bigfoot, I know the perfect place in our house to display my taxidermized catch: in the main foyer. I think I’ll use him as a coat rack. My racquetball buddies will be so jealous.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
May is my favorite month for several reasons: The weather is finally turning mild and sunny. The days are getting longer. And it has some fun holidays, like No Pants Day. Yes, that’s a real holiday.
I love the month of May. It’s one of my 12 favorite months. Flowers are blooming. Summer is around the corner. And the air is thick with the sweet aroma of fresh-cut grass (not from my yard, mind you – I usually wait until mid-August to break out the mower – or whenever my wife gets fed up and threatens to make us visit her relatives for a week – whichever comes first).
But perhaps one of my favorite aspects of this month involves all the fun holidays that are observed. Of course, there are the major holidays like Star Wars Day on May 4th (so named because then you can say “May the 4th be with you”).
Right on the heels of Star Wars Day comes the always festive holiday Cinco de Mayo, observed on May 5th. I’m not sure what this holiday was originally meant to celebrate. I’m guessing something to do with Mexico’s longstanding love affair with mayonnaise as a condiment.
Then there’s Mother’s Day. But that holiday is only celebrated by people who have moms. Feel free to skip that minor holiday – unless you have a mom or are married to one, in which case, you’d better not forget the date like I did last year. My wife still hasn’t forgiven me. In my defense, the Goodyear 400 NASCAR race was on Fox Sports so I had a very full plate that day.
What many people may not know is that May has several other slightly more obscure holidays every bit as fun as Cinco de Mayonnaise and Start Wars Day. If you’re looking for reasons to play hooky, why not tell your boss you won’t be able to make it into work because you’re celebrating one of these lesser known holidays? Here are just a few of my favorite actual honest-to-God May holidays:
Celebrated on the first Friday in May, the origin of this holiday dates back to the 1980s. Like most great holidays, it was started by a bunch of drunk college kids (in this case, from the University of Texas) as a prank. It celebrates the freedom from having to conform to a society that requires men to wear pants. It first appeared when a bunch of UT students decided to take off their pants right after finals and parade around campus in their underwear.
May 20th: Be a Millionaire Day (an actual holiday). On this day, you can act like you’re the richest person you know. All you need to celebrate is to start with a million bucks. Either that or marry George Clooney or Dolly Parton.
Surprisingly, not one of the students who instigated this craze has ever won a Nobel Prize – although several apparently went on to distinguished careers as members of the Texas State Legislature. While you’re not legally required to get totally hammered, if you really want to get into the spirit of this holiday, experts say getting sloshed helps. If you’ve never previously tried alcohol, this might be an excellent day to start.
This holiday was first created in 2003, inspired by the Jedi master’s wisdom and wit. Fans celebrate this important annual tradition by coming together and mimicking the way Yoda talks. On this day, you’ll hear people all over the world – and by “people” I mean males in their twenties who haven’t had a date in a long time – speaking words of supposed great intellect using Yoda’s unusual, high-pitched voice and convoluted sentence structure.
I have to say, it’s highly amusing talking like Yoda. I celebrated this special day last year by asking my wife questions in the style of the diminutive Star Wars character incessantly all day long. I remember it clearly, because that’s the day she screamed in frustration, “Oh my God. I’m married to a seven-year-old!” To which I eruditely replied, “My talking this way annoying you, dear, is it?” Then she made me sleep on the couch. A fan of Yoda not everyone is, concluded have I.
National Lost Sock Memorial Day (May 9th)
Some geniuses decided it was a brilliant idea to set aside one day each year to commemorate all the socks we’ve lost over the decades. What happened to them? How did they meet their tragic fate? Will they ever be reunited in sock heaven?
May 11th: Eat What You Want Day, Celebrate this real holiday by eating whatever you want – as much as you want. If you plan to celebrate by eating all the broccoli you can fit into your pie hole, see a psychiatrist. There’s something seriously wrong with you.
Now there’s an actual holiday to help us honor the memory of these dear departed feet coverings. Even though this holiday technically falls in May, I’ve found that whenever I accidentally show up for a formal, special occasion wearing one black sock and one dark blue one, I simply mention that I’m doing my small part to mourn the loss of two pairs of socks. People rarely ask me any follow-up questions… and usually slowly back away from me.
As much as I love the month of May, in some ways, I love June every bit as much. After all, it’s hard to beat a month that has a holiday called National Chocolate Ice Cream Day (June 7th). I’d better put that date on my calendar before I forget. Looks like someone’s not going to be able to make it into work that day.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
Cats are the most popular pet in most western countries. That’s because they’re furry, extremely cute, make a soothing purring sound, and help their owners procrastinate whenever they jump on our laps. Good kitty. Daddy didn’t want to defrost the fridge anyway. I’d rather pat you instead.
Cats living with humans dates back over 10,000 years. But in all that time, there is not a single documented case of a cat ever thanking its human cohabitant. In ancient Egypt, people worshipped cats as gods. To this day, that’s still how most cats see themselves.
Throughout history, cats have served many valuable functions for their owners. In many early civilizations, as cats became domesticated, they were kept as a means of chasing away snakes and killing mice and other rodents in order to protect the grains in storage.
It is speculated that cats were once used to herd sheep and cattle. However, historians say this practice was believed only to be associated with one group of people in medieval Wales. Apparently this terribly in-bred population suffered from a genetic defect in which everybody was severely near-sighted, and thus they mistook cats for dogs. Before long, this society appears to have died off, most likely from widespread starvation – because they kept losing their food supply of sheep and cattle. It turns out even back in the 700s, cats were terrible at herding. Many generations later, the entire tribe was posthumously given the Darwin Award.
In more recent times, cats have been adopted into families as household pets – mostly by lazy couples who preferred cats over dogs because they’ve concluded that getting up at 5am on a December morning to walk the dog and scoop up its poop on a frozen sidewalk was way too much work.
Throughout my marriage, we’ve owned cats as pets, typically two or three at a time. Don’t worry, I never became one of those “crazy cat people” with a dozen cats – because my wife would never agree to this. We love our cats dearly, but over the years, we’ve had to replace several living room chairs and many blown glass vases, thanks to our cats’ hardwired obsession with scratching furniture and knocking onto the floor anything on a counter that looked expensive.
In recent years, I have found yet another extremely useful function for our three cats, Buddy, Zippy, and Monster: I frequently use them to get out of having to help my wife with chores. That’s because we have a tacit agreement: Whenever one of us is lying on the couch, and there’s a cat on our lap, we mustn’t disturb our furry friend from their peaceful slumber.
As a result, whenever a cat is looking adorably cute, lounging comfortably on my lap, I get an immediate hall pass to avoid helping my wife with any chores until my fuzzy feline decides it’s time to move on to something more fascinating – like a nearby twist tie or a piece of lint. And our giant moose of a cat Buddy has been known to park himself on my lap for hours at a time, all but guaranteeing I won’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the afternoon.
This is our cat named Buddy. He’s huge. And he loves nothing more than to park himself on my lap and stay – usually within 30 seconds of when I was planning to get up to make myself a snack.
This system has been working wonderfully for me. For example, let’s say my wife could use a little help in the kitchen cooking dinner. As she’s getting close to the point where I anticipate she’ll likely be asking for my assistance, I make sure to grab say, Monster, park him on my lap and pat him until he settles in for a nice long nap. “Hey, honey, I would totally help peel the potatoes, but I’m stuck. I have a cat on my lap.” Chore averted.
But be careful not to abuse this strategy. A few years ago, during the peak of the pandemic, I was working from home. My boss asked me for my quarterly sales forecast. I tried to explain that I was not ready to present it at our Zoom meeting because there had been a cat on my lap for the previous two hours.
I figured my boss would understand. Turns out she had no sympathy for my predicament. I made the mistake of working for someone who was a dog person. (It’s my fault for not asking her about this during my job interview.) She had this crazy notion that focusing on my job during work hours took priority over patting kitties. Such a heartless person. I would have submitted a formal harassment claim to the HR department but I couldn’t – because I still had a cat on my lap – and our small company did not have an HR department.
I have been able to avoid raking the leaves, doing laundry, and power-washing the driveway for weeks at a time, thanks to this “Cat On My Lap” (COML) addendum to our marriage vows. But lately, our cat Zippy has been gravitating more to my wife’s lap than mine, thus ruining the balance of cat lap time that had been disproportionately favoring me. My wife is deliberately attempting to turn the tables by claiming “I’d be happy to help you with the gardening, but as you can clearly see, Zippy is parked on my lap.”
As far back as 2,500 years ago, in ancient Egypt, cats were revered. Here is a piece of funerary fabric depicting a cat trying to decide which priceless urn to knock over. It ultimately chose the one on the right.
Our COML agreement worked perfectly when Zippy preferred my lap to my wife’s. But lately he’s turned into a traitor. Even Buddy – who ALWAYS prefers me – has taken to preferring my wife over me for cuddle time. What’s going on??!! My wife has nefariously used this technique to get me to cook dinner three nights in a row – and clean the BBQ grill. So unfair. I think she’s bribing the cats, but I have yet to catch her in the act.
This has to stop. I’m going to start spraying all my wife’s clothing with a dog fur cologne. (I wonder if Amazon has this in stock.) Hopefully, they’ll start to view her with suspicion or even terror and return to choosing my lap over hers, thus restoring order to the cat universe.
I know, it sounds extreme. But when it comes to my relaxation and my desire to avoid helping out around the house, sometimes a husband has to take drastic measures.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
