LUCKY GARVIN: Second-Guessing Your Wife

Lucky Garvin

I want to tell you a story; then I’ll tell the rest of the story:

Although males and females use the very same words, they speak two entirely different languages. The classic example: a woman is cursing and throwing things. Husband: “What’s wrong?” Wife: “NOTHING!!” Husband leaves room content that all is well; further, that – unlike many couples – they communicate quite well.

Yet there are men who walk amongst us who claim to understand the mind of a woman. Weep for them; weep for them as such understanding surpasseth the intelligence of the male gender. It’s not a matter of being bright or stupid, it’s more like darkness not understanding the light; the ‘Venus-Mars’ thing.

I am amongst the humble majority who confess that most of what my wife says flies right over my head. [Sabrina is nodding in vigorous agreement.]

Despite what I just wrote [and I believe it like it was Holy Script], I will confess to you that on one certain topic, I not only understand my Sabrina, but I am able to actually anticipate her next move!  Now, remember: It ain’t braggin’ if you can do it, so all you men listen up while I lead you through two of our brief conversations and see how you do:

One day, Herself says out of the blue, “I saw the cutest, the most cuddly orange male kitten at the vet’s office. He had adorable written all over him!”

As she spoke, a thought occurred: Could it be the Garvin Household will shortly be rescuing another… oh I don’t know… let’s just say an orange male kitten?

“You know how I love orange kittens, Gahv.”

“I do. Ask the neighbors.”

A week went by, she saw the kitten again. “Oh, he’s so sweet, Gahv; I really want him. But we’ve got so many dogs and cats already, not to mention the wildlife center and all that work! I simply don’t have time for another kitten. I mean litter boxes, vet bills, the work involved getting all the animals to live harmoniously…  No, absolutely not. No more rescues!”

We are getting a new kitty. No doubt about it.

Today, I pass her on the driveway. We stop a moment to chat. She’s holding her steering wheel with both hands at six o’clock; not her usual “10 and 2” positions.

”Gahv, meet a new member of our family,” and with that, a marmalade face pops up over the window’s edge. The kitten had a quizzical look as if to inquire, “Whazzup, human?!”

“Why, honey, could this possibly be the kitten you’ve been talking about?”

“You’re wise beyond your years, Gahv; and that’s saying a lot.” [I could have done quite nicely without that last part.]

We named him Finnigan. Finnegan O’Leary Shenanigan Garvin. ‘Finnigan’ is the Irish word for ‘Marmalade.’

Let me add a fine point here: If you’ve gotten this far in predicting your wife’s next intentions, do not – I say again: do not! – question her about all the reasons she listed against the adoption. You might feel that to remind her is rational, is logical, yea, is even a good Christian’s duty. I know it’s a temptation, but you must resist!  Don’t doubt me on this! Been down that road; trust me, the bridge is out.

Here’s the rest of the story: It turns out that Finnigan had an identical twin at the vet’s office. The twin had to remain there an extra week for a minor health problem. One day I come home and think I’ve developed double vision. I keep seeing two orange blurs tearing around the room looking for only God knows what. The toys we throw down for them are ignored; as it turns out, each kitten is – for the other – their favorite toy.

We named the other brother ‘Flannigan’, which is the Irish word for ‘Marmalade’.

The plan which developed in the devious mind of my Sabrina was to adopt two kittens. I didn’t see that coming. Perhaps I’m not as smart as I think I am.

Sabrina! Again with the nodding?!

Lucky Garvin

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