Sunday, February 11, 2007

ummm, no.

I called the Sober Husband over to admire my daffodils, which are in full bloom.

"Last year we had a wicked storm right after they bloomed, so I didn't get to enjoy them," I remembered.

"They look good now. Except some of them are bent over in that way that Frowsty knocks plants over," said the husband critically.

"Well, there's not much we can do about that, except have one of his Achilles' tendons severed."

The husband perked up. "Do vets do that?"

3 comments:

hughman said...

oh doll, with the two Dominatrix Daughters under his castle roof you'd think poor Frowsty would be the least of his worries.

Jack's Raging Mommy said...

SH really hates cats, doesn't he? I don't think I really got it before

Drunken Housewife said...

Ironically Frowsty is as close as the man will get to having a favorite cat. "He's like a dog in a lot of ways," the husband has said approvingly. Once I even caught him attempting to play with Frowsty by fastening a pipe cleaner (the F. is insane for pipe cleaners) to a cabinet knob and calling Frowsty. He was embarrassed when I saw this, though. But yet even the Frowst, a remarkably charismatic cat, would be improved in the husband's eyes by being crippled.