Driving Me Crazy
My husband Gabe, he liked to tell jokes. It was an obsession with him. I don’t know if you can get addicted to telling jokes, but if you could, Gabe would have been an A number one first class junky.
“Maureen,” he’d say all the time, “I have one. A joke.”
Only they were never funny.
Ever.
Here’s one.
“What kind of movies do the children of hens like to watch? Chick flicks.”
Then I was supposed to laugh. Ha ha. And then he’d throw another one at me.
“Why did the dachshund turn on the air conditioner? Because he was a hot dog.”
Ha ha again, only by the fifth or sixth such non-funny quip I was ready to slug him just to shut him up.
All that changed after he died, of course. Ah, bliss.
Sure I was sorry he was gone. We were married forty years. You don’t live that lo
