Thinking Out Loud

By Gerard Meister

Had a real to do at the Meister household last week. In fact, the contretemps grew so testy that my normally placid wife said (that) "we'll have to take this up with Dr. Phil or someone; you're not winning this argument, period."

"Well, I can see your point," I said soothingly, "but you happen to be wrong."

"Fine," she said. "Then we'll have a baked potato skin for dinner tonight. Would you care for a pat of margarine with it?"

"Okay, I said. "I see that you're not going to listen to reason, but I'm not going to call Dr. Phil or Judge Judy or anyone else. I'm going to tell our readers what happened and let them decide who's right."

"That's fine with me, " she said. "Just make sure you tell both sides of the story!"

"I always do and here it is:" We were having an awfully busy day; Marilyn had a morning tennis game and then a round of bridge in the afternoon. After which she had to return my mother-in-law's car back to her mother's condo in Ft Lauderdale. And in between she was going to put the oven on time bake and roast a chicken breast and a couple of potatoes for dinner.

I had a busy day, too: I had to take my morning walk, answer a few e-mails, lunch, shower and take a nap before driving to Ft. Lauderdale to pick up Marilyn. And in between, I had to take the chicken breast (it was already in its roasting pan) out of the refrigerator and place it on the top rack of the oven (and make sure to close the oven door). Plus, she said: "I'll call to remind you about the chicken." And therein lies the rub. She did call on time, but I left early because my mother-in-law called that I should stop on the way and get her a large jar of Vita herring in wine sauce and a midget Hebrew National Salami.

That's the long and the short of it. Marilyn thinks that I should have remembered to put the chicken in the oven, no matter how many calls I got. "You never seem to forget to take your nap," she reminded me.

"Okay, that may be true, but your mother started it with her herring and salami, which by the way, your mother shouldn't be eating at her age. She's ninety-five, you know!"

"Yeah, well - I think she's cutting back," Marilyn said, impishly. "She did order a midget salami, didn't she?"