I am on a roll so don’t rock my boat (standard:humor, 945 words)
Author: Godspenman	Added: Apr 20 2014	Views/Reads: 2797/1681	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Have you ever had one of those weeks where everything went exactly as planned? Well, neither have I, except for last week. I do not know what was going on last week, all I know is everything went according to plan. My plan, that is. I was on a roll.

Have you ever had one of those weeks where everything went exactly as
planned? Well, neither have I, except for last week. I do not know what 
was going on last week, all I know is everything went according to 
plan. My plan, that is. I was on a roll. 

In a sense, that worries me. I am not accustomed to having my week work
out according to my plans. Normally, if I can get 50% of my plans 
accomplished in a week, I am doing pretty good. Last week was one of 
those weeks, which may never repeat itself ever again, I am sorry to 
say. Or, am I sorry? 

In contrast, the week before it was horrendous. 

I was out of town on business for the week and had to return via the
airplane. If you have ever been on an airplane, you know that the 10 
dwarfs of Snow White fame designed the seats. I think the one in charge 
of the seat project was Grumpy. 

I was flying from Chicago to Orlando, which is not that bad of a trip. I
boarded the plane in Chicago and took my seat at B3. I got all snuggled 
and strapped in and was prepared for the trip. No sooner had I gotten 
into this state of affairs, and you know getting into those seats is 
one of the great challenges that a real man has, somebody came and 
stood at the aisle looking at me and said in a high pitch grumpy voice, 
“You are sitting in my seat.” 

The emphasis on the word “my,” indicated to me I was up against someone
that I did not want to be up against. 

“I'm sorry, madam,” I stated as calmly as possible, “but this is my
seat.” I tried to emphasize the word “my” to get the message across. 

She stared at me with one of those stares that penetrates the very soul
of a person's manhood. Then she waved her ticket at me and said, “You 
are sitting in MY seat.” 

I took out my ticket to wave at her and prove she was wrong. Much to my
chagrin, my seat was B13. Do you know what it takes to get unbuckled 
from a plane seat and extradite yourself out of it? Especially when Ms. 
Grumpy is staring at you with one of those stares. 

I went back to B13 and went through the same procedure to get myself
situated in the seat for someone half my size. Just before the plane 
took off, I heard in the seat behind me a little baby start to cry. 

“Oh, no,” I said to myself, “not a crying baby!” Sure enough, in the
seat behind me was a baby with lungs the size of an elephant. I tried 
pretending I did not hear, but the more I pretended the more I heard. 
That baby cried from the moment we took off until the moment we landed. 
When we landed, the baby fell asleep. I wanted to cry myself. 

That was last week. This week was different in every respect. I enjoyed
this week, particularly the fact that I got all my “to-do-list” 
accomplished and by early Friday afternoon, I had nothing to do. 

Nothing to do! 

Then a thought wrestled my brain to the mat. What if the Gracious
Mistress of the Parsonage found out I had finished all my work and had 
nothing to do? 

When I thought about this, one thought that was predominant was that it
is a good thing when I do NOT finish everything in a week. Then, I have 
the excuse that I have too much to do to delve into the “honey-do-list” 
of which my wife is most famous. 

I believe this “honey-do-list” is something mothers pass on to their
daughters. It is part of the women's secret society that does not 
permit any intrusion from the non-female counterpart. It is the reason 
wives prefer their husbands call them the secret name, “Honey.” 
Whenever the husband uses this term of endearment the wife smiles one 
of those romantic smiles that her husband has no idea what is behind 
that smile. 

It has taken me a long time to come to this point of understanding.


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