My wife suggested taking down our brand-new teepee tent. Our grandkids used it every day. The cost was dang well spent.
But the know-it-all that I’ve become said, “Leave it for a while.” You should have seen the look she gave, a slightly, “We’ll see,” smile.
Why do men seldom listen to a good wife’s sound advice? Are we afraid we might be called brow-beaten, hen-pecked mice?
One thing I’ve learned for certain and doggone it sure does bite. The words that she dispenses me are darn near always right.
It must have been a day or two the wind began to blow. I’d say it blew almost Mach II. I’d soon be eating crow.
I made a dash toward the tent. The wind blew at my tail. My feet were taking lift off! Turned my coat into a sail!
The tent was flapping like a flock of cackling, angry geese. And the rain had soaked our teepee ‘bout as slippery as pig grease.
In vain attempts I tried to hold the teepee down in place. But the rain drenched cloth was slick and wet. I tumbled to my face.
Then all at once a chunk of tent tore off and took to air. Our brand-new teepee tent was doomed. My life was in despair.
I watched in abject horror while our tent was blown to shreds. And once again I’d call myself the dumbest of eggheads.
My wife was calm, said not a word still, “Told you so,” rang loud! I’d have to swear I walked that day beneath the blackest cloud.
My good sense tends to tell me,”Have you learned your lesson yet?” But it takes a heap of changing so it sure ain’t worth a bet.
Are we really all that stubborn or do men have too much pride? And will I learn to listen ‘fore I reach the other side?