I donít know what it is about me; maybe it is my eyes or the way I walk, every time I get out of the house, I get this annoying screech, ďEeeeeek!Ē I feel depressed after being nearly stomped on. I used to think I was the catís meow. Nowadays, I just feel like a dingbat. Maybe I should go to a gym and exercise those love handles away. I think I wouldnít get so much of those ďEeeeksĒ.
My wife says I need a shrink to sort out my inferiority complex. Sheís rather tired of hearing me scream, ďIím gonna die! Take care of the kids!Ē every evening. Apparently, she has this idea that I am afraid of the outside world because Iím tinier than the average guy. Sheís tired of the meager meals I manage to bring home. I have to hear her complain that she should have listened to her mother who gave her the stupid advice not to marry me. She claims that she could have married King Fisher and be so well-off in her own palatial cave.
I suspect her mother has been telling her about King Fisherís resurgence to stardom while omitting the fact that King Fisher was behind bars for five years. I think King Fisher made a deal with Mr. Catkins but she refuse to believe it. I try to make sure my wife and kids have just enough cheese and clothes on their backs. My wife has expensive taste in cheese especially if it is smelly enough for me to take out the Febreze and spray it over the matchbox sofa and chairs. She likes cheese quiches but that is too pouf pouf for me. This week, she had a brilliant idea to put me on a plain diet as in spinach and romaine salads with little dabs of Muenster.
I like my food simple. I prefer sliced cheese and cracker sandwiches with Doritos nachos. Iím just an average guy. I like to watch some sports and read the Daily Dormouse. If anybody needs help, Iím the man to lend a paw out.
The kids donít care how smelly the cheese is as long as they can throw the pieces in the air and try catch them with their mouths. They just see me as their old Dad with gray whiskers on his cheeks. I donít mind that so much than when they dare me to go get some more cheese and some juice when Mr. Catkins isnít looking. I have to remind them I just canít go waltzing down out like King Midas and look for cheese of gold. Heh Heh. They donít think my joke is that funny. I can say they have a whole lot of bravado to spare. The oldest son wants to be a daredevil like Evel Knievel. His mother isnít too happy with me for putting that idea in his head. I didnít know that taking my oldest son to the meet would influence his career choice for the rest of his life. The youngest son likes to watch [i]Ratatouille[/i] on Disney Channel and has been talking to me in a French accent. My oldest let me know that his brother wants to change his name to Remy and he also wants a wooden spoon with a pot for Christmas. I am not sure what I think of that.
I stay up nights just thinking about all of this.
Well, donít mind me so much. I just needed it off my chest. Please, donít tell my wife I wrote a letter to her favorite columnist. She will never let me live it down.
Dear Tee-Boy Dormouse,
Thank you for your letter. Your life sounds very full with a wife who cares for your health and two young sons. I wouldnít worry too much about the younger one. It could be that he is destined to be a Chef. He can make you sandwiches. I would recommend that your oldest son invest in a helmet along with a pair of elbow and knee pads. That may lessen your worry.
I can not promise you that your wife wonít find out that you wrote to me. Hopefully by that time, she would be tickled pink that her husband is as famous as King Fisher.
I am sending a ticket for your mother-in-law so she can go to the Cheesecake Factory for a week.
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