I was just about to submit my Thanksgiving newspaper column last Friday, when that little voice of reason inside my head said, "WAIT!" Then it explained, "Sorry for yelling, but don't you think someone else ought to read it before it's in print on the most thankful day of the year?"
"Well, okay, I guess. Maybe. Sure," I relented, and recruited my soul mate to do me the honor of proofreading, even though I had reread it thoroughly myself. As a reward for indulging me I gave him a peck on the cheek, a squeeze of the shoulders and went upstairs to fold his clean clothes.
Suddenly, "OH MY GOSH! YOU CANNOT PRINT THIS," rang out. "LUCY! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? HOOKERS ? FOR THANKSGIVING? YOU WON"T HAVE ANY READERS LEFT!"
Naturally, I boot-scooted down the stairs and skid into the dining room where my computer was set up on the table. "I won't?" I asked surprised. Then I went into defense mode and argued, "But I let the readers off the hook, uh, no pun meant in that, and reveal that the lady of the night marks his place to turn."
Again, my husband squinted at the computer and mumbled as he read through the paragraph once more:
Every year I wait for someone to lower the boom. What I would give for one of my brothers to bust out with, “I’m thankful for the hooker on the corner of Jackson Avenue and Stewart Street.” Then add, after everyone has either thought, Yeah, I’m thankful for her, too, or I can’t believe he said that in front of his mother, “When she’s not there, I miss my turn.” It would sure shut-up mopy cousin Molly, who, every year, sighs heavily and says self- absorbedly that she can’t think of anything.
After finishing, he looked at me and said, "I know I'm not the only one who will read it this way. What you meant and what you wrote are two very different things. What I read is that your brother is sad when she's not there because he misses his turn with her."
Oh my! Happy Thanksgiving. Be careful what you say for your annual thankful moment in the spotlight. You might spend all of Christmas regretting it.
"Well, okay, I guess. Maybe. Sure," I relented, and recruited my soul mate to do me the honor of proofreading, even though I had reread it thoroughly myself. As a reward for indulging me I gave him a peck on the cheek, a squeeze of the shoulders and went upstairs to fold his clean clothes.
Suddenly, "OH MY GOSH! YOU CANNOT PRINT THIS," rang out. "LUCY! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? HOOKERS ? FOR THANKSGIVING? YOU WON"T HAVE ANY READERS LEFT!"
Naturally, I boot-scooted down the stairs and skid into the dining room where my computer was set up on the table. "I won't?" I asked surprised. Then I went into defense mode and argued, "But I let the readers off the hook, uh, no pun meant in that, and reveal that the lady of the night marks his place to turn."
Again, my husband squinted at the computer and mumbled as he read through the paragraph once more:
Every year I wait for someone to lower the boom. What I would give for one of my brothers to bust out with, “I’m thankful for the hooker on the corner of Jackson Avenue and Stewart Street.” Then add, after everyone has either thought, Yeah, I’m thankful for her, too, or I can’t believe he said that in front of his mother, “When she’s not there, I miss my turn.” It would sure shut-up mopy cousin Molly, who, every year, sighs heavily and says self- absorbedly that she can’t think of anything.
After finishing, he looked at me and said, "I know I'm not the only one who will read it this way. What you meant and what you wrote are two very different things. What I read is that your brother is sad when she's not there because he misses his turn with her."
Oh my! Happy Thanksgiving. Be careful what you say for your annual thankful moment in the spotlight. You might spend all of Christmas regretting it.
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2 comments:
Oh, that's hilarious!
Three cheers for husbands! 1-2-3!
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